Faith and Hellfire
by Basilisk9466
Summary: "The absence of faith is the mark of the weak. The absence of faith is the mark of the heretic. The absence of faith is the mark of damnation." When faith degrades, there can be no forgiveness... Part 1 of The Daughters of Apostasy.
1. Prologue

Tzarine's bolt pistol continued to aim directly at the Inquisitor's head. Unwavering.

"You set us up," she said coldly. The blood of the Venastan 3rd Regiment covered the floor of the temple, the rest of her Sisters wary, waiting for ambush or retribution. "You put us here, and you wanted to see what would happen. Congratulations. Did we meet your expectations? Why shouldn't I kill you now?"

Inquisitor Gharr merely smiled. "You went beyond my wildest dreams. You can help me end this now, Sororitas. Put the gun down, and we can save this world."

The barrel of the weapon continued to point directly at him, like the eye of Death. "Save it? With you?"

"You've shown what lengths you're willing to go to," Gharr said softly. "The Imperium needs ruthlessness, tenacity and drive, and you have all three, Tzarine. You'll probably be punished for your actions, but I can protect you. My own band of deadly warriors. We can clean up this sector. Put all that rage to good use."

The Sister looked aside for a moment, at the ragtag group that followed her. Then she looked back at Gharr. "You know, for an Inquisitor, your intelligence is severely lacking."

The pistol barked once.

* * *

><p>Katarina Tzarine's first memory was of the parade.<p>

It had been a grand affair. She didn't even remember what it was in aid of, but it had been awe-inspiring. The long, perfectly organised lines of Imperial Guard. The formations of tanks and support vehicles, the building-sized Baneblade in pride of place at the end of the line.

And then the Sororitas.

As she'd clung to her father's shoulders, her eyes wide, the power armoured warriors had marched past with a dignity and power that the Guardsmen, for all their numbers and weapons, had lacked. She had no memory of the rest of the day, just the overwhelming, all-consuming need to become part of that.

She'd been inducted into the Adepta Sororitas a few months later. She barely remembered her parents, or anything save for the all-consuming drive to succeed and prosper, and the love and kinship for her fellows in the Order.

The time went by in flashes. Being chosen for the Order Militant, and first picking up a weapon. The gruelling training and harsh instructors did nothing to quell her enthusiasm, and time and again she was picked out for praise as a perfect student. With the completion of her training, and her assignment to a squad, she'd felt like her heart would burst. The feel of her blood-red armour and black cape, the weight of the bolter in her hands…

She'd first seen combat only a few months later. A minor thing, the purging of a cult on a primitive world. Barely worthy of the attention of the Sisters of Battle, but she'd revelled in the knowledge that she was doing the Emperor's work.

She was promoted rapidly, gaining her own squad, and then achieving the rank of Canoness, in command of a Mission. Dozens, hundreds of heretics and xenos died by her hand. All said that she was destined for great things.

The fire that burns brightest burns fastest.

During an engagement where a squad of renegade Space Marines were trapped, fifteen of her Sisters died as the superhumans attempted to break out. It was her first blow, the first imperfect success. The first moment her flame flickered.

Her superiors began to see anger, discord. Her patience and tolerance became a fraying thread, easily broken, her temper a dangerous thing. Obedience was no longer enough; she demanded reasons, justifications.

Pristine success became mere success. She became cautious, flirting with failure at times for the sake of keeping her troops safe. Sacrifice was no longer its own reward. The bureaucracy of the Ecclesiarchy sickened her, and she steadily became sullen.

When she finally actively refused an order unless she was given a reason to do it, she was demoted in disgrace. Left to languish until final judgement could be decided.

Until the Purging of Senaav III.


	2. Chapter 1

Tzarine found that her patience was limited these days. Once, she had been able to wait forever, she reflected. Now…

And Zophia knew that, and was making her wait on purpose.

She'd never liked Zophia, and the feeling was entirely mutual. Where Tzarine had once been a burning beacon, Zophia had been merely efficient. She'd never distinguished herself, never been anything other than above average, and thus always a step behind.

Until recent events, when their positions were literally reversed. When Tzarine's insolence had grown sufficient to demand her demotion, Zophia was promoted to Palatine and given command of the Mission.

It wasn't bitterness, Tzarine insisted to herself. Losing the position to her was neither here nor there. No, it was the new Palatine's attitude. She wholeheartedly supported the endless red tape and machinations of the Ecclesiarchy, the things she'd come to despise. Now those were being used to punish her. By making her wait to be acknowledged.

She tried to distract herself. The antechamber had changed from the last time she'd been here, when it had been _her_ antechamber. Gone were the weapons and paraphernalia she'd collected to remind others (and herself) of the nature of their work, gone were the carefully selected inscriptions laden with thoughts and warnings of the dangers of the witch, the heretic and the xenos.

No. The lofty, high-ceilinged room was now decorated with imagery of saints and devotional texts, inspiring words and other such things. A huge golden Aquila statue dominated the centre of the room, forcing one to dodge around it to inspect the material on the old metal walls. It spoke volumes about the change of ownership.

"Tzarine!"

Tzarine glanced at the doorway to Zophia's office, edged her way around the Aquila, checked her robe was straight, and stalked in.

It felt bigger now, she reflected. But then, she'd usually worn her armour while in here. They'd politely requested that she surrender it when she'd been demoted, a clear sign that this was just the start of her punishment.

Here was the continuation, in the form of a solidly built, grey-eyed blonde, sitting in her old chair. Zophia stood as she entered, gesturing for Tzarine to sit. No doubt, Tzarine thought spitefully as she obeyed, to hide the fact that she was five inches shorter.

In fact, they were opposites in most regards. Tzarine was a little over six foot, well muscled but wiry rather than bulky. Almost unnaturally green eyes, and black hair long enough to flirt with breaking regulations, compared to the crew cut Zophia favoured.

_Plus, I'm a warrior and she's a bureaucrat_, Tzarine thought, carefully arranging her features into a neutral expression. "Has judgement been passed on me, Palatine?" she asked out loud.

Zophia's expression twisted slightly. "Evidently you still have not learned to hold your tongue. Was that lesson not thoroughly embedded in your thick skull, Sister?"

Tzarine considered a reply, abandoned it, remained silent.

"Good," the other said after a moment. "You have a suspended sentence. You will be stripped of all rank, and with that mark on your record, it is doubtful you will ever rise from being a simple Battle Sister again. I am told that some pushed for your submission to the cares of the Repentia Mistresses, but they were overruled. You have a lot of enemies, Sister Tzarine."

_No doubt you'd have liked that._ She said nothing.

Zophia looked slightly put out at receiving the silent treatment, but continued regardless, glancing down at a dataslate. "That is a suspended sentence, however, and may be commuted. You've been personally requested."

Tzarine looked up sharply. "Personally?" she asked, startled. "By whom?"

"An agent of the Ordo Hereticus. Several from both this Mission and others have also been requested. This Inquisitor is apparently creating a unit for a specific purpose."

Zophia looked up from the dataslate, silently daring Tzarine to ask her usual question.

With an effort of will, Tzarine resisted the urge. It would get her no information. "Which Inquisitor?" she asked instead. She'd dealt with one or two in her time. Dangerous, untrustworthy individuals, had been her conclusion, but they were undeniably necessary. Perhaps it was one who had known her…

Zophia glanced down again. "His name is Victor Gharr. There's a note that you and the rest of the unit will rendezvous over Senaav III, only two days travel away."

The name was not familiar. The location was. "We're to help destroy the insurgency?"

"That is all the information I have for you," Zophia replied coldly. "Collect your armour and weapons. A transport is waiting for you already, so be swift."

Tzarine stood and left, not bothering to salute. If she survived the upcoming mission, there wasn't much more they could do to her. But if an Inquisitor wanted a special unit… survival wasn't terribly likely.

At least she'd get one last chance to do something worthwhile before being consigned to scrap heap.

"What's the word?"

Tzarine glanced up from her thoughts. Morgana was an old friend, all the way from her training days. Possessed of an easy grace and natural finesse, she was the best shot with a bolter in the Mission, she had always been content to remain in her friend's shadow, never seeking to stand out. Although they were about the same size and build, it was often said that the blue-eyed woman seemed smaller than Tzarine when they stood together.

"I'm to be despatched to a 'special unit'," she replied. "Something to do with Senaav III. Hopefully my new commander doesn't have anything too ridiculous in mind."

"I tried to look into Gharr, but the librarian had nothing," Morgana murmured. "Not a huge surprise."

Tzarine looked at her in surprise, and the Celestian shrugged. "I received the same orders. So did Akadia, Helga and Rhia. You won't be entirely among strangers. The Emperor still holds you in some favour, it seems."

Tzarine looked away thoughtfully, trying to work out the connections. "Strange mix. Why the five of us? I assumed this was a suicide mission, if I'd been called on, but Rhia's a model Sister and Akadia's never done anything wrong. Nor have you."

Morgana looked away for a moment, embarrassed. "I wouldn't say that. I… uttered a few unwise words to Palatine Zophia after you were demoted."

For the first time in far too long, Tzarine laughed, an affectionate smile spreading over her face. "I need to collect my equipment. Zophia said the transport is waiting. I just hope that the journey is swift. Emperor knows I hate warp travel…"

* * *

><p>Sister Helga was what most considered an 'awkward case'. An Imperial Cobra destroyer was not the largest of ships, and thus the five Sisters hitching a ride to their destination had been assigned a large, communal chamber to sleep in. This was not a problem – after all, they were all used to fairly cramped conditions – but it did mean Helga.<p>

Few liked her. Tzarine wasn't bothered by the woman, but even she had to admit that the Seraphim was creepy, possessed of a green-eyed gaze with just as much terrible intensity as her twin inferno pistols. Rumours said that she took perhaps a little too much glee in reducing her enemies to ashes, and she had a habit of zoning out in the middle of conversations with an expression that often led to any she spoke to making excuses to leave.

Short, unnervingly silent, bizarrely lightly built for a Battle Sister and with blazing red hair, she tended to stand out and attract attention. One or two curious crewmen had passed 'by chance', keen to see the famous Adepta Sororitas up close, but they tended to leave quickly after watching her go through the intricate process of dismantling and cleaning her pistols.

Tzarine watched in almost hypnotised fascination as she connected the parts again, lining them up and attaching components. The casing was carefully reassembled, the weapon weighed in a hand… and then put back on the bed, and the process of disassembling and cleaning began again.

Finally she dragged her gaze away to the comforting, bulky form of her power armour, once again restored to her, with its red rose and blood red plating. She'd almost thought that she'd lost it forever… but she'd get to use it one more time, at least.

For a moment, she considered doing her own weapon rites, but although her training and instinct said that she should, she ignored them. The translation to warpspace made her stomach queasy, and trying to maintain her gear would be far harder if her body was complaining. So she turned her attention to the other occupants of the room.

Rhia was silently praying in the corner. Like Helga, she was small, though not as unnaturally so, and seemed to have a permanently earnest expression, as though each moment was a gift in her eyes. She tended to keep to herself, but otherwise appeared 'the perfect Sister', as Tzarine herself had earlier remarked. Blue eyes, short, blonde hair… she could almost have walked out of one of the propaganda tapes about the Sororitas. Once again, Tzarine puzzled over her presence. Nobody had a word to say against her, so how did she fit with troublemakers like Helga and (she reluctantly admitted) herself? Certainly there was something a little off; Tzarine had assigned Rhia to her personal Celestian guard after seeing her skills with a blade, but had never managed to find anything beyond that shell of devotion. But…

Then there was Akadia. The Dominion was also checking her wargear, a pristine and rather rare model of flamer that she was immensely proud of. Tzarine knew Akadia, having worked with her several times, but… there didn't seem to be much of note. Just a blank. No great successes or notable failures, no commendations or penalties on her record. A capable soldier, nothing more.

When Tzarine had been Canoness, she'd been busy taking care of fifty Sisters and all their support. Now, with that responsibility gone, she could look at Akadia again and feel a slight sadness. Akadia glanced up, sensing the scrutiny, and smiled slightly. Their eyes met, and Tzarine looked away hurriedly, not wanting the woman to see her pity. To never amount to anything, and to know that that was one's fate…

The ship lurched, and she closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. The three ignored it, used to their former commander's warp-sickness.

A strong hand squeezed her shoulder, and she glanced up at Morgana. "Back from your travels?" she asked softly.

Morgana shrugged as she sat next to Tzarine. "Even on a starship, there's only so much to see. I'm glad we won't be here long. Hard to believe there's so little space on something this size."

"Where are we going?" Helga asked suddenly.

Akadia glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "You weren't told?"

"Senaav III," the Seraphim replied. "No idea about it, though. I don't pay much attention to current events."

_Or current conversations_, Tzarine thought, remembering one or two past incidents. Morgana was the one that answered, however.

"It's a mining world, always problematic. When it was first brought into the Emperor's light, the dominant religious cult was deemed to be heretical and stamped out. That was a couple of thousand years ago, but it always seems to return. Three months ago, a full-blown insurgency flared up, and many of the missionaries and preachers were killed over the course of two days. Bombings, street fighting… now it's out of control, and the Venastan 3rd Mechanised Infantry have been called in to deal with the situation."

Helga considered this in silence. Rhia glanced up from her meditations. "Sometimes, Sister Morgana, I think you were meant to be a sage, not a warrior. You always seem to know something useful."

Morgana shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "I like knowing things," she said.

Senaav III.

Tzarine lay back on the bed, tuning out the quiet discussion between the other Sisters, thinking of their destination. She'd been there once, to the grand cathedral to give a report to one of the Ministorum officials. Subtle things had struck her as wrong about the building, and she'd remarked this. The man had looked shifty, and admitted it was not an Imperial construction. The foundations had been of the old religion's main temple, and someone had decided to rebuild it as the heart of the Imperial Cult.

The last report had said that the capital city had been all but evacuated as a result of the insurgent attacks. She thought back to that grand building, standing empty and dormant, scarred by the bomb that had started the insurgency but mostly intact.

For some reason, the image made her skin crawl.


	3. Chapter 2

Tzarine woke, an imperceptible jolt running through her, and she sat up. She didn't need the announcement to know that they'd arrived.

It would take them a while to get into position. Which was just fine, she thought as she silently stood, moving over to her armour. It would take a while to get ready.

She patted the red plate. She would eat, sleep and live in this from now until when the mission was done. Uncomfortable, perhaps. But it was a trial that gave her focus and made her feel ready for anything the universe could throw at her.

The other Sisters, alerted by her activity, quickly began tending to their own armour. She ignored them, beginning the slow, methodical process of unfurling cables, removing plates and unfolding components, feeling each connection and murmuring the rites as she had been taught.

She'd never have the same connection to this armour that an Astartes had with his, but there were moments when she could swear that the ceramite plating hummed with pleasure as she was slipping into it. Perhaps it did. It moved with her, fought with her, killed with her… maybe these acts gave the machine-spirits pleasure, being joined with her gave them anticipation of action to come…

The chest-plate slowly lowered into place as she settled back into the armour, sealing with a hiss. A vibration resonated through her body as the reactor core crackled to life, commencing the slow process of waking the dormant systems. She flexed her fingers in the gauntlet, feeling the great weight slowly beginning to lighten. Tzarine closed her eyes as the sleeping metal woke, the cold ceramite slowly beginning to warm up as power crackled through its mechanical veins.

"Hello, old friend," she murmured faintly. "Miss me?"

As though in answer, the reactor growled, her right arm suddenly feeling ready lighter, ready for action. She grinned faintly. In theory, it was fairly random which sections received power in which order, but her armour always seemed to get her weapon arm ready first. It always felt like bad luck when it didn't.

It had been her legs on that fateful day, facing down those traitor marines.

She shook the memory away with a scowl, and then murmured soothingly to the armour as it shuddered, more warmth spreading. Very cautiously, she leaned over, grasping hold of her helmet, and slipping it on, pausing to sweep her hair away before it sealed.

There was a moment of disorientation as the helmet came online, the autosenses and targeting array sluggish and unresponsive. The urge to twitch impatiently passed through her for a moment, and was resisted. Calm… her own feelings would do nothing to speed up the process.

The static-laden displays of the helmet cleared up, and as power finally slipped into the tips of her left fingers, she stretched, monitoring the tactical readouts, the targeting reticules and distance readouts as the helmet analysed objects around her. After a moment, the other Sisters flashed green to indicate that they were registered as 'friendly', and the words 'online' glowed for a moment in a corner of her vision.

She took a cautious step. It never ceased to amaze her, the ease with which the armour moved with her. Thirty five kilograms of ceramite, reactor and wiring, and it felt as light as a feather. Then the moment was over, and her arm snapped out, retrieving the bolt pistol and chainsword and letting them seal against her hips, the maglocks engaging with a faint whirr.

"Ready for the Emperor's protection, Sisters?" she asked.

There was a murmur of amusement from the others. It had always been Tzarine's line before going into battle against the odds. "It might not be that bad, Sister," Morgana said, checking the slide on her boltgun. "And besides, we've got a special mission. We can go to the Emperor knowing that we've been doing something worthwhile."

Tzarine nodded. "Let's –"

A naval rating peered in, and blinked at seeing the Sisters fully geared up and ready for action. "We've… uh…" He cleared his throat, and came to attention. "We've arrived at the rendezvous point, m'ladies. The captain would like to inform you that your transport can depart for the _Righteous Firestorm_ at your convenience."

Tzarine nodded at him dismissively, and he left, seeming relieved. "Let's not keep the good Inquisitor waiting."

* * *

><p>Thirty.<p>

Tzarine stood at perfect attention, helmet stock-still, but her eyes darted around the lines of Sororitas.

Thirty of them. Not a huge amount, all considered. Her Mission… or Zophia's, now… had been larger than this. But the variety was staggering. There were markings and colours from all of the major Orders Militant, and a few – offshoots, no doubt – that there unfamiliar. It was not unheard of for different Orders to work together, but… why had such a variety been requisitioned?

Curiosity burned in her soul as she focused on the puppet-master of this curious piece.

Inquisitor Gharr paced along the perfect formation in silence. In his dark carapace armour, he seemed tiny next to all the power armoured women, but her helmet assured her that he was six foot tall, at least. Some horrific wound appeared to have sliced part of his face off, with the left cheek and half the lower jaw replaced by a shining metal bionic, with a glowing red eye nestling in sharp contrast to the small, dark right one. A long coat that was almost certainly more than it seemed obscured much of his form, and a battered hat broke up his figure further. A curious affectation, but the stories she'd read (and been involved in) with the Ordo Hereticus had led Tzarine to the conclusion that all Inquisitors were slightly mad. You couldn't be sane and think with the degree of suspicion and distrust that seemed necessary. A Sororitas had to watch for heresy and corruption all around her, but it wasn't their job to see it everywhere and operate on that basis. You'd either lose hope, lose faith, or lose sanity.

"Welcome to the Senaav system, Sisters," he said finally. Tzarine glanced at the chronometer on her display. Five minutes before he'd done more than scrutinise them.

"No doubt you know the sad tale of Senaav III," he continued. His voice had a scratchy, synthesised quality to it; probably another relic of the injury that had destroyed his face. Despite the quiet tone and harshness, his voice carried. "You are no doubt also wondering why you have been summoned here. We're going to destroy heretics, Sisters. But not just insurgents, oh no. I have reason to believe that this is not just a persistent local religion, not just persistently blasphemous industrial workers. Something else is at work here."

"You will be my eyes and ears on the ground, and when the true enemy reveals themselves, you will be the mailed fist of the Emperor himself. You were all individually selected based on your records, and I know you all to be capable warriors. You will work alongside both the Venastan 3rd and the Baziin 9th, which will arrive and begin unloading troops within the day. Let me make myself clear; the Imperial Guard's job is to purge the insurgency. Yours is to ensure it never happens again. _Prioritise._"

"I'm aware that many of you will not know each other, and your different origins may make forming a clear chain of command difficult. The two highest ranking among you are Sister Tzarine of the Bloody Rose, and Sister Morgana, also of the Bloody Rose. Based on their experience, I am giving them tactical command while you are on the ground."

Tzarine's eyes widened until she looked like an owl, intensely glad of the helmet obscuring her features. She'd resigned herself to never having command again. With such a wide variety pulled together, she'd naturally assumed that there would be other senior figures among them.

Apparently not.

Gharr was looking expectant, and belatedly she realised that that had been her cue. With the steady thudding of ceramite on metal, she moved from her place in line to the front, followed a moment later by Morgana.

Twenty eight pairs of eyes, some hidden by helmets, some unveiled and intense, locked onto her. She took a breath, cleared her head, and removed her helmet, shaking her head automatically to let her hair fall free.

"Sister Tzarine was the Canoness of a nearby mission," Gharr said smoothly. "She has an excellent record, and I hope that you will find no difficulties in following her orders."

_Tactful avoidance of the recent demotion,_ Tzarine thought. _Or maybe he hadn't got that information ye- he's an Inquisitor, of course he knows._ She nodded curtly at his introduction.

"The _Righteous Firestorm_ will arrive over Senaav III itself in two hours. That will give you time to organise a chain of command and some organisation. I apologise for the rush, but there was no way for you to meet earlier. Sister Tzarine, I can also inform you that two Rhinos and an Immolator have been requisitioned for your use during this operation." He handed her a dataslate, which she took. "That is the information about your drop zone and the latest intelligence about enemy locations. I will see you on the surface, other matters demand my attention. Go with the Emperor."

He stalked from the bay, leaving Tzarine bemused and awkward. Morgana leaned fractionally closer, opening a private channel. "I was wrong. We're all going to die. That's the only explanation for such a swift exit."

Tzarine fought down a laugh, looking over the lines of Sisters – _her_ Sisters now, for however long this mission lasted. Then she took another deep breath, and relaxed. This was really no different to how things were before… there were just a lot of new faces, was all.

"At ease."

The ramrod straight poses relaxed slightly.

"I think we can all agree that this situation is not ideal," she began. "But we were trained for war, trained to face the worst the galaxy has to throw at us, and laugh in its face with the Emperor of Mankind in our hearts. An atypical assignment and rushed briefing are small discomforts compared to facing down a rampaging ork with an axe, to paraphrase a guardsman I once served with."

There was a rustle of amusement. A good sign. Not all approved of her approach to command, she knew. Some (and not just among the Sororitas) preferred strict discipline and stirring speeches of duty and the purging of blasphemers. To her mind, a commander should tend to the battlefield first, morale second, and duty third. If that meant a more relaxed, perhaps even informal attitude… so be it.

"If there were more time, I would attempt to get to know you all, and divide you based on your strengths. For now, however, I'll simply ask you to divide into your specialities, and I'll assign you based on that. Seraphim with Sister Helga… special weapons with Sister Akadia… bolters with Sister Morgana… close combat experts with Sister Rhia." The members of her little group moved forward as they were named.

There was some milling around, and Tzarine watched with a critical eye, trying to spot anything of import. You could tell a lot about soldiers based upon the way they held themselves. But this lot… there didn't seem to be much to see. Once again, she wondered what in the Emperor's name Gharr had in mind when he'd put together his list of chosen candidates.

Once movement seemed to have ceased, she nodded in satisfaction. "Seraphim, with me. The rest of you, talk amongst yourselves. You'll be fighting together soon. Strangers don't make good comrades-in-arms."

There were five of the jump pack specialists. Tzarine looked them over thoughtfully.

Seraphim were the elite, in theory at least. The truth was that jump pack combat required a certain raw enthusiasm, and while only skilled warriors ever entered their ranks, among some Missions it was not unheard of for younger Battle Sisters to be granted the wings if they showed enough raw zeal and talent. None of the four looked particularly experienced; Helga herself was fairly new to the rank, although you wouldn't know it to see her swooping towards the enemy, reducing them to puffs of ash with her pistols.

Her instinct proved to be correct. Elosha, Nyris, Tarrin and Vulka were all new to the wings, only having worn them for a month in Tarrin's case. With no self-evident seniority present, she gave command to Helga as a known quantity, and made a mental note not to rely on them for any particularly difficult tasks.

The next assignment was somewhat easier. Four Sisters had lined up with Rhia as self-professed close quarters specialists. As Tzarine approached, one figure immediately stood out: a towering woman with an inferno pistol at her belt and what looked very much like a power axe slung over her back. The black-and-white armour of the Ebon Chalice played off against her curious, silvery hair into an image from a dream. Or, if she were charging towards you, probably a nightmare.

"Not a common weapon among the Orders," she remarked as she approached.

The silver-haired woman turned, a wry smile playing over her features. "Everyone tells me that, my lady."

Tzarine made a dismissive gesture. "Never mind the formality. Sister Tzarine to one and all. And you are?"

"Sister Zekka." She bowed her head, a trace of what had probably once been a thick, guttural accent. Power armour made builds impossible to tell, but one sensed that she would be a muscle-bound behemoth underneath. Perhaps she came from a feral world. "I was in Palatine Kalisia's personal guard until I was transferred here."

"You know how to use that well, then?"

Zekka's smile turned toothy. "There's a lot of heretics missing vital limbs and organs to testify to that, Sister."

Tzarine glanced among the group. Rhia might be a good fencer, but she'd never shown much command potential. Too distant. None of the other three stood out at first glance, or seemed eager to put themselves forward. "Very well. You five will be my personal guard. Zekka, you have command. Rhia can answer any questions about the way I deploy and operate. Anything else? No? Good."

Morgana, it seemed, had got ahead of her. She suppressed a smile. Hyperefficient as always. Two groups of Sisters, loosely grouped by Order. Morgana was idly standing to one side with a Sister in the black and red of Our Martyred Lady, with a livid scar running along her cheek that looked as though the side of her face had been ripped open by some jagged blade.

"Sister," Morgana said as Tzarine approached. "This is Sister Ysabella. She's been commanding Dominion units for years. Since we're probably going to be making heavy use of mechanised tactics, I thought she would be ideal to command second squad."

Ysabella inclined her head respectfully. "Sister," she said. Tzarine waited for a moment, but nothing more was forthcoming. A woman of few words, it seemed.

"We have two meltaguns and two flamers, so I assigned one of each to our squads," Morgana continued. "Hopefully we won't run into anything too heavy, or at least we'll have Guard support, but this should give us some tactical flexibility. I assigned Akadia to Ysabella's squad, so you'll have some connections in each unit while everyone gets to know you and your style."

Tzarine nodded, inwardly scowling once again. What was Gharr playing at, giving them so little time to prepare? "All right," she said aloud. "That was easy enough. Just need to see what Gharr's giving us for a landing zone."

For the first time, she looked at the dataslate.

There was an orbital map of a region, carefully labelled with positions of formations and possible zones of enemy activity. There were several lines of text explaining movements and possible reinforcements.

But the part that caught her attention was the schematic of the old cathedral, next to the words 'initial target'.

Tzarine suppressed the faintest of shivers. On some level, it had been inevitable that she'd be despatched to the place, given its significance both to the Ministorum and the original cult… but as she looked over the war-damaged spires, her stomach twisted with anxiety.

Something told her that Gharr wasn't telling them everything.


	4. Chapter 3

The surface was cratered and ruined from recent conflict. Tzarine glanced back at the massive lander, with the black-painted Rhinos starting to roll off it, then back over the surrounding fields.

"Probably wasn't particularly picturesque even before an armoured column rolled over it," Morgana murmured by her side. "I heard the insurgents managed to commandeer a formation of the PDF's tanks and set up an ambush. Thirty six hours of fighting before they were destroyed."

"Are you sure you're not a psyker?" Tzarine remarked flippantly. "There's no other explanation for how well-informed you are at all times."

Morgana snorted. "You exaggerate. I just pick things up."

Tzarine shook her head, but didn't respond, moving off to the side. The landing ship was titanic, far larger than strictly necessary for the Sororitas deployment, and it was blocking her view of the most important part of the landscape.

Senaav City. It hadn't always been called that; in fact, if she remembered correctly, the planet hadn't always been called Senaav. It was an Imperial designation, imposed as another way of crushing the awkward population. It wasn't a particularly big city, certainly not by the standards of a Hive World, but it was big enough. "How many inhabitants did it used to have?"

"Before this started, ten million," Morgana remarked, having silently followed. "The insurgents released nerve toxins and planted incendiaries that killed nearly two million before the evacuation order was made and the city declared a warzone."

Tzarine scowled. "Killing so many of their own people. Gharr was right, this does have a smell of Chaos. It takes that kind of heretical fanaticism to care so little for death."

There was a snort. Tzarine glanced at the source questioningly, but Helga did not elaborate. "The Immolator is just being unloaded now. Do you want my unit to scout ahead?"

Tzarine looked at Helga thoughtfully, and the four Seraphim behind her. Young, eager, their assortedly coloured and marked wings already warming up and ready. They'd have to fly anyway, no room in the vehicles. "All right. But be careful, and don't engage any hostiles. Report back."

Helga scowled, and Tzarine took half a step forward. "I mean it. We have no intelligence, and I don't want you throwing away your lives in an ambush. The Venastans swept out this place, but assume they missed things."

Helga nodded reluctantly. "As you command. I'll stay in contact." The Seraphim turned away, and in a roar of flame and a rush of air, the five Sisters leapt skyward, zooming towards the city.

Morgana was silent for a time. "She's a problem. Why did Gharr pick her?"

"Why did he pick me?" Tzarine countered.

"Sister, you ask too many questions. That's your fault. Helga is a loose cannon who enjoys killing. That's hers, and a far more dangerous one for a difficult operation."

Tzarine couldn't answer. "There's a lot of relatively inexperienced Sisters here," Morgana continued, lowering her voice, although the roar of the lander beginning to power up and the Rhinos moving into formation made being overheard unlikely. "I'm beginning to wonder whether you were right. That we should all prepare to meet the Emperor."

Tzarine gave Morgana a sharp look, and the second-in-command shrugged helplessly. "I know," Tzarine said finally. "But we have our faith, and we have our orders. Is there anything else?"

It was Morgana's turn to fall silent. "We're ready to move out," she said finally. "Helga should have enough of a lead to scout the terrain. I'll get back to my squad."

Tzarine nodded, taking one last look towards Senaav city, then stalked towards the Immolator, and her personal guard waiting there. Zekka nodded respectfully. "Moving out, Sister Tzarine?"

"Moving out." Tzarine took one final glance over towards the city, then swept her hair aside and donned her helmet with a hiss. "The Emperor protects," she muttered to herself. "I hope."

Inside the Immolator, she stalked forward into the driver's compartment. To her surprise, the figures there were a man and a woman in jet black carapace armour, with an Inquisitorial 'I' stencilled on their shoulder pads. She had assumed that her Sisters would be in charge of transport, not Inquisitorial Stormtroopers. The driver saluted smartly as she loomed. "_Tenebrous_ is at your command, m'lady. I have a copy of your plan of action, shall I move us to the first waypoint?"

She nodded, perhaps a little more sharply than intended, and withdrew as the Immolator lurched, tracks scrabbling for traction before moving towards the city.

There was a main road that would make the process quicker, but she'd decided to avoid it. Roads were dangerous in wartime. They made for easy targets and predictable paths. And although the Venastans had supposedly cleared the area… she gritted her teeth. Too much relying on others.

Including, it seemed, Gharr's retinue.

Assuming there were no problems, it should be only a few minutes before they reached the outer walls. Once, they'd have been forced to go through the gatehouse, but it seemed that the Venastans had shelled enough holes for that to be avoidable. Now the only question was…

"Enemy sighted," Helga reported.

Tzarine's eyes narrowed. Of course. "How many?"

"Emperor knows how they were missed. I count around twenty with autoguns and lasguns. Definitely not PDF or Guard. There's also a pair of some kind of modified Chimeras and… Golden Throne, I think that's a Malcador."

"Repeat that?"

"It's a Malcador," Helga repeated. "That heavy bolter assembly is unique, nothing else uses it. How did they get something like that?"

Tzarine closed her eyes for a moment. Malcador tanks were relics, rarely deployed due to engine troubles and often eschewed for the faster, more reliable Leman Russ. But they were tough, and well armed with a hull mounted demolisher cannon, side-mounted autocannons and a ring of fixed heavy bolters. Taking one on would be suicide.

"Find us a way around it," she ordered tersely. "Drivers, hold position. Helga, where is this accursed tank?"

"You'll love this."

Tzarine closed her eyes again. "The cathedral."

"It's lurking inside the entrance hall. Perfect kill zone on anyone trying to approach. We're not bypassing that thing."

"What about the rest of them? Any more surprises?"

"I don't see anything. They've got a good position and nothing more. No patrols, no firepoints, no booby traps. Amateurs."

"Hold position."

Helga sounded like she wanted to argue, but remained silent. Tzarine clicked her vox to attract Morgana's attention. "As resident librarian, tell me. Is there anything we can use?"

Morgana sounded dubious. "They were designed to replace Baneblades when many Forge Worlds lost the templates to build the real thing. They don't have many weaknesses. Not in a position like that, not without destroying its ability to target anything."

Tzarine stared at empty space for a moment as an idea suddenly hit home. "That's it. They've got the perfect defensive position… and few hundred tonnes of building above them."

"You want me to collapse the cathedral?" asked Helga, a mixture of horror, uncertainty and more than a hint of excitement in her voice.

"I've looked over the plans," Tzarine said, her voice gaining confidence. "It's very strongly reinforced across the structure. If you place krak grenades at specific locations on the floor above, you should be able to take out the Malcador with minimal damage to the rest of the building."

"It's a cathedral of the Emperor!"

"And it's housing a weapon of heretics," Tzarine retorted. "Those are your orders. Can you carry them out or not?"

"Obeying."

Morgana clicked onto a private channel. "She sounded far too happy there. Are you sure about this? Some would say that this is unconscionable."

"Any true servant of the Emperor would consider it a worthy sacrifice," Tzarine shot back, a little harsher than she intended. "I'm not throwing away lives when there's a safer approach. I just wish we could move up to support."

Morgana did not reply. Tzarine looked away, and realised Zekka was watching her intently. "Yes?"

Zekka raised her hands defensively. "Just curious, my lady. My former commander would never have taken this course of action." Her tone was neutral, not critical, but Tzarine eyed her for a moment longer before turning away to brood.

_So much for no difficult assignments._ The Sister leaned into the driver's compartment. "Slow advance. I want to be in position when the Malcador's disabled, but don't alert them."

"Yes, m'lady."

* * *

><p>Helga took one final look at the overall position. "There's no way to do this quietly," she said finally. "We'll have to jump. Hopefully they won't realise what we're doing until too late. I'll plant the charges. You'll be covering me. We'll probably have insurgents all over us the moment we reveal ourselves. Trust in your armour, but don't do anything stupid."<p>

She drew her inferno pistols, checking the action, and grinned at her squad as they readied their own weapons. "Let's bring down the Emperor's wrath."

The jump packs used by Seraphim were highly advanced; a different model from the Astartes issue turbines, but lighter and more efficient due to the smaller load. The most common setting was a micro-burst for the infamous assault 'leaps' favoured by both Seraphim and Assault Marines, but by opening the thrust to maximum, the user could gain unparalleled mobility for up to a minute before the turbines overheated. Helga grinned like some feral animal as the jump pack whined, power building up in its systems.

In a roar of flame, the five Seraphim leapt skywards, roaring across the square towards the cathedral. Cries of alarm came from below, and a few harsh cracks of autogun fire, but far too slow. Helga reversed her posture at the last moment, hitting the ground of the second floor feet first, pistols raised and ready – but as she'd hoped, there was nobody present. "Move out!" she barked.

She'd never fought with these Sisters before, but she trusted them to follow their training. She had more pressing matters to attend to; how to collapse part of a very solid building. Without killing herself in the process.

The point they'd entered was some kind of audience chamber, very grand and austere. The thick layers of debris and dust somewhat ruined its majesty, but one feature remained: the massive, regularly spaced pillars.

"Morgana," she snapped into her vox. "This place has had insurgent trouble before, yes?"

"Yes," Morgana replied instantly. "Why?"

"So this whole building will be reinforced, and thus very heavy?"

"Yes."

"Got it." She closed the outside channel. "Plant your kraks on the pillars!"

"They're coming."

Helga glanced towards Vulka, who was standing by the looming double doors. "Hold them off. We can escape through the window, just don't let them in here. Kraks, now."

She twitched slightly at the first thunder of bolter fire, as the Seraphim opened up on the attacking insurgents. Screams sounded, then the whickering and thudding of las- and autofire. She tuned it out, focusing on rigging the kraks and placing each one at the base of a column.

Another scream indicated that a bolter round had found its target, and a solid thump of a frag grenade going off produced more, but she knew they couldn't hold the position forever.

Just focus on the next krak.

* * *

><p>The Malcador's commander was uneasy.<p>

He had some experience with heavy vehicles, although certainly nothing the size of the Malcador. The idea of lodging the tank inside the entrance hall had seemed a brilliant one. Totally impossible to attack without a suicidal direct assault.

But now some force had entered the cathedral, and were holed up above. It made no sense. What had they gained? They didn't seem to be trying to push out through the troopers attacking them…

But the Battlewhores weren't stupid. There didn't seem to be any other possibilities for who they were, not with those jump packs. So what…

Slowly, he looked up from his seat, up at the solid metal of the tank… and at the ceiling.

"Engine! We need motive power, now!" he screamed.

There was a cracking sound.

"_NOW!"_

The engine roared to life… and then died.

The commander's last thoughts before the tank was crushed by the better part of two hundred tonnes of building was to curse whatever techpriest had invented the machine.

* * *

><p>"Mission accomplished. Malcador's scrap metal, and most of the insurgents went down with it."<p>

Tzarine breathed a sigh of relief. "Casualties?"

"Elosha got a bit shot up, but no injuries. Come on in."

"Good work, Helga."

"There is one other thing," Helga said hesitantly.

Tzarine waited.

"The Malcador's drive exploded, and the whole thing broke downwards into some kind of catacombs. Chain reaction. Most of the front of the cathedral's in ruins."

"Await our arrival," Tzarine said coolly, and cut the channel, before letting her helmet connect with the side of the Immolator with a solid 'thunk'.

"At least she destroyed the tank," Zekka pointed out reasonably. "Nobody could have known there would be that much collateral."

"A four thousand year old Ecclesiastical monument destroyed. If I wasn't damned already, I am now," Tzarine replied darkly.

Her guards gave her questioning looks, save for the silent form of Rhia. Tzarine ignored them. Explaining that she was disgraced would do nothing for the mission.

"M'lady, we're at the square," the driver called. "You'll have to go on foot from here. Far too much debris."

Tzarine nodded, getting to her feet as the vehicle rolled to a halt. "Stay alert and keep an open channel in case of trouble. Move out, Sisters. Time to see if the Inquisitor's hunch was correct."

As she stepped out of the Immolator's hatch and looked at the collapsed ruin that was the front half of the once mighty building, she paused, feeling a spark of guilt.

_I should probably feel horrified_, she suddenly thought. _Zophia would be horrified. But I'm not._

With a roar of flame, Helga landed a few feet away, closely followed by the other Seraphim. "Controlled demolition isn't in your vocabulary, is it, Helga?" she asked, trying to summon up more annoyance than she really felt.

Helga shrugged, unconcerned. "I kill things and I destroy things, Tzarine. That's what I'm good at."

"You really are," Morgana remarked as she moved closer, her squad in close formation behind her. "We're assembled, Tzarine. How shall we proceed?"

Tzarine looked at the cathedral once more, then checked her weapons. "I'll take point. Helga, you're with me. Ysabella, you're the middle. Be ready to react to anything. Morgana, you have the rear. Let's do our duty."

The going was hard. Even before Helga's demolition work, the cathedral had apparently been heavily shelled – no doubt a contributing factor to the collapse – and chunks of rubble and debris had to be negotiated with great care. Occasionally the towering building groaned, and there was a moment of tension as all waited for the next collapse, which fortunately never came.

Although she had only been here briefly, Tzarine kept having flashes of the place when it had been intact. Broken statues of saints and great leaders, massive golden aquilas defaced by insurgents, pristinely kept marble floors now covered in cracks and dirt.

Her mind flicked back to the words of the priest, that this place had been built on a temple of the old religion. Perhaps it was for the best that this place was far beyond repair. It could be torn down and a new one built elsewhere.

"Or they could just conduct exterminatus and leave it at that," Helga remarked.

Tzarine blinked, then realised that she'd said the last part aloud. "Sister," she said scoldingly. "Such a measure should never be spoken of lightly."

"I'm not. This planet is clearly more trouble than it's worth."

Tzarine gave up and ignored the Seraphim. Arguing with Helga always seemed strangely difficult.

"Where are we headed?" Zekka asked, breaking the awkward moment. Something seemed to have spooked the Amazon-like Sister, and her power axe was held ready in her hand.

"The main chamber, assuming it's still intact," Tzarine replied. "It'll be somewhere to start, anyway. Gharr made no mention of why we should be headed for this place. It makes sense that there might be clues here…"

…_but we're soldiers, not investigators,_ was the unspoken addendum.

Her vox chirped to indicate an outside signal. Frowning, she opened the channel. "Tzarine."

"Sister Tzarine, this is General Van Dorl. Report." Not a voice she recognised, but something in the tone spoke of a big man with a big moustache and a big army; one of the Imperial Guard commanders.

She signalled caution, gesturing for Helga to take the lead, and moved back along the line. "We've entered the Senaav City cathedral, General. Several insurgents backed up by a Malcador tank obstructed us but were dealt with. Be aware that they may have additional heavy armour from somewhere."

"Acknowledged. Sister, your current orders are rescinded. A column of renegade tanks and heavy infantry have emerged from some hideout. Your instructions are to engage and destroy."

For a moment, Tzarine said nothing, shocked into silence. "General… what kind of column are we talking about?"

"Intelligence is sketchy, but around thirty vehicles, mostly Chimeras and other transports. In the region of two hundred infantry. Backup is on the way, but you're to make a flank strike to cripple them now."

"General, my force is not –"

"Those are the orders, Sister, and you're in my list of field assets, so you are under my command. The column is five miles east of the cathedral. No time to lose. Van Dorl out."

Tzarine came to a halt, looking around the chamber. The endless pews, the towering lectern… and the sudden emptiness in her gut.

"Sister?" Zekka asked, concerned. "What did they say?"

Tzarine rallied herself. "We've been ordered to move out. There's an insurgent mechanised column a few miles away that we're to flank and cripple."

Silence. All eyes were on her, at the sudden uncertainty in her voice.

"There's a mistake," she said finally. "We don't have anywhere near enough strength to take on that force. We're here as a precision force for the Inquisition, not for fighting the battles of the Guard."

Silence.

Movement. Her uncertainty faded. This was a warzone, and there were still enemies. "Cover!" she hissed.

The Sisters suddenly vanished with strange ease for power armoured warriors, lurking among the pews and behind columns. Weapons ready. Tzarine herself crouched to one side, bolt pistol ready, Morgana by her side.

Whoever was coming was making little attempt to remain quiet. She eased the trigger, ready… and then relaxed as a squad of men in the colours of the Venastan 3rd stalked in, hellguns ready.

"Clear!" the lead stormtrooper barked. Tzarine almost rose to snidely remark on his ability to check a room, but something held her back.

"There's nothing left here, sarge," the second remarked. "What are we doing here?"

"Doing somebody else's job. The dead girls got moved elsewhere, this was their sector."

Tzarine suddenly felt something tighten in her stomach.

"Kind of a waste, really. If they're really so screwed up, why just send them out to die? Some of them looked kind of cute. I wouldn't mind being there for the Repentia ceremony, if you get my drift."

"They deserve to go down fighting. It's the least they can do. And keep your mouth to yourself, Garda."

"Don't be a spoilsport, sarge. You saw them lined up, you really telling me you wouldn't want to see them out of the armour? Maybe tied to an aquila, so you can screw 'em with the Emperor watching to make sure it's all pure."

There was a guffaw, and something in Tzarine snapped.

There was no grand purpose. No special mission. Just a suicide command. All of them were marked for death.

She'd held faith in the Emperor. She'd held faith in her superiors. For a while she'd even had faith in the towering machinations of the Ecclesiarchy.

And they were casting her aside. Now… she looked in her heart, and found nothing. Only rage.

She aimed the bolt pistol, and fired.


	5. Chapter 4

The first bolter round hit the lead stormtrooper in the head, propelling through his helmet and into his skull, before detonating and reducing it to a red mist and a spray of bone fragments.

The second bolter shell hit the next trooper and exploded against his back, cracking the armour and making him stagger.

The third bolter shell smashed into the injured man, sinking through the weakened carapace and smashing his spine, before the shell burst with sufficient force to propel his intestines through the front of his armour, before raining down upon the pews.

The fourth bolter shell caught the sergeant as he turned to face the sudden attack, skimming along his neck and tearing the carotid artery open, blood spraying over his chest as he fell, clawing at his ruined throat.

Then there was a pause, an aura of total shock descending on all. Tzarine stared at the bolt pistol, the dying men.

Then her lip curled, her resolve hardened, and she stood, finger pumping the pistols' trigger as quickly as she could. A man died with each shot as she advanced, panicked hellgun fire whickering past her. Finally she stood over the last man, who tripped back over a body, crawling backwards, weapon forgotten. "Why?" he screamed as she pulled the trigger one final time.

The pistol clicked dry. She cast it aside, leaning down and pulling him up, crushing him against the wall. "Because I didn't give my life in service to be disrespected by you," she said. The chainsword roared to life, and then flashed, ripping him open from neck to groin. Blood and viscera coated her armour and helmet, and she wiped the eyes clear, letting the sword turn off. It was only then that she turned, and looked at her Sisters.

"I did not give my life in service for nothing," she said quietly. Her head bowed. Waiting for judgement, waiting for condemnation, maybe even waiting for a bolter round. She'd killed the servants of the Emperor in merciless cold blood.

Nothing came.

"We're all dead, Sister," said Morgana softly, rising to her feet. "They condemned us all. Now I understand why Gharr chose us. The ones that could not be tolerated. They could not punish us to their liking, so they sent us to die."

Tzarine slowly retrieved her weapon, sliding a new clip into the pistol. Silent.

"The question," Morgana continued, "is what happens now. You clearly don't wish to die, Sister. You've always fought to keep us all alive. Apparently the Imperium no longer desires our service."

"That… is a good question."

Tzarine's head snapped around. Standing by the altar was a tall, coated figure, with four black armoured figures next to him.

Gharr and the 'driver' stormtroopers.

The Inquisitor ambled towards the semi-circle, passing through it as the Sisters silently parted. The bionic eye bored into Tzarine, as she removed her helmet. "What are you doing here, Inquisitor?" she said softly, a hint of menace in her words.

"You passed the test." Gharr shrugged. "You're on a crossroads, Sister. You yourself were on course to join the Repentia. I put a word in the right ears, and you were instead brought to me. You all could have mindlessly followed your orders… or you could have refused."

Tzarine's eyes narrowed, and in a sudden movement, the pistol was raised, aimed straight at the bionic eye. "You set us up," she said.

The Inquisitor shook his head, apparently unconcerned by the weapon. "I took a chance and decided to trust in your intelligence. This business with the Guard was… unfortunate, but it perhaps clarified your mind. There are always more bodies for the Imperium, but skilled warriors who can do more than just follow orders… you're a rare thing, Sister Tzarine."

"You set us up," she repeated, frost creeping into her words. She glanced at the abattoir of bodies that she'd created, at the uncertain faces of her Sisters. "You put us here, and you wanted to see what would happen. Congratulations. Did we meet your expectations? Why shouldn't I kill you now?"

Inquisitor Gharr merely smiled knowingly, infuriatingly. As though he held all the answers. "You went beyond my wildest dreams. You can help me end this now, Sororitas. Put the gun down, and we can save this world."

Tzarine felt a tiny flicker of uncertainty in her heart. He was an Inquisitor. Surely he knew what he was doing. But… he'd manipulated her, moved her around like a pawn, taken advantage of her. "Save it? With you?"

"You've shown what lengths you're willing to go to," Gharr murmured, his red eye glowing hypnotically. "The Imperium needs ruthlessness, tenacity and drive, and you have all three, Tzarine. You'll probably be punished for your actions, but I can protect you. My own band of deadly warriors. We can clean up this sector. Put all that rage to good use."

The Sister looked aside for a moment, into Morgana's eyes. Then she suddenly realised that it didn't matter. No matter what the Inquisitor said, no matter what he did, it was over. She'd killed those men, and she didn't even want to go back. Her faith had failed her, and she couldn't go back to pretending. And as she looked at him, she knew he'd misjudged her. "You know, for an Inquisitor, your intelligence is severely lacking."

Misjudged her fatally.

The pistol barked once, and the headless corpse of Gharr fell over backwards. The Sisters knew what it meant, and spun, weapons raised and aimed at the four stormtroopers.

Tzarine looked down at Gharr's body, a curious sensation of relief washing through her.

Inquisitors died like anyone else, it seemed.

The stormtroopers had their weapons raised as well, but neither side fired. The troopers because they would die, and the Sisters because…

…because she hadn't ordered them to.

Tzarine looked at the figures, and opened her mouth to give the order.

Then the rearmost stormtrooper came to a decision, and pulled the trigger of her hellgun three times.

The black armoured figures crumpled to the ground, and the traitor hurriedly dropped the gun. The Sisters stared, shocked.

Tzarine stalked towards the stormtrooper, holstering her pistol. You couldn't tell them apart, but it was the only female of the four; the Immolator's gunner. "Why?" she asked.

The stormtrooper shook her head. "Either I die under your guns, or I'm executed for failure. I'll take life. Besides, as renegades go, you've got a decent reason to run. I can think of worse fates than ending up with you. If you'll take me."

"What's your name?" Tzarine asked.

"Karis." The stormtrooper saluted sheepishly. "Varn Karis."

Tzarine glanced around, then beckoned to Ysabella. "Get everyone together. We'll have to move out shortly. And deal with Karis. Morgana, with me."

Tzarine was silent as she moved over to the altar, her second just behind her. She looked up at the massive aquila, and said nothing for a while.

"When I was little, I heard the Emperor speaking to me," Morgana said softly. "I used to dream that he sang me to sleep. It helped me through the novice years." She shook her head. "Then I met you, and I believed because you were so fiery, so pure, so determined. And then you lost that, and my faith eroded as well."

"I never believed," Tzarine said quietly. "I thought I did. I believed with such intensity, saw the majesty and power of the Emperor and the Imperium, but then I grew older, and wiser, and the people I'd grown up with began to die. I couldn't do it any more. I needed to save people, and they wouldn't let me. Now I find out that they despised me so much they wanted to kill not just me, but all of us. We're all faithless, Morgana. That's why they picked us out. The ones who no longer found it enough to just fight in the Emperor's name. I questioned, Helga murdered, Rhia hid… and you put all your faith in me. Why?"

Morgana smiled sadly. "We both know why."

Tzarine looked down, and then up at the towering aquila. "We're in trouble now. Where are we supposed to go? I killed the only one who could have rescued us. Did I do the right thing? Killing Gharr? We're beyond hope or help, beyond the Imperium, beyond everything we've ever known."

"Gharr wanted to use us as his pet killers," Morgana pointed out. "We'd have been no better off, just with a new master and a blade looming over us. As to the rest… we still have each other."

Tzarine looked away again. Anywhere but at Morgana. "I can't do this."

Morgana leaned forward hesitantly, uncertainly, and then in a rush of decision, kissed her on the cheek. She lingered for a moment, staying close, and murmured in her ear. "I still believe in you."

She remained still for a moment, and gently felt her cheek as Morgana pulled back, flushing with embarrassment at the realisation of what she'd done. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Sister Tzarine!"

Tzarine looked towards the approaching Sister. "Yes?" she said.

"Sister Ysabella says that you're needed. The transports were destroyed."

"What?" Tzarine hurried back towards the main group, the Battle Sister shaking her head.

"The Immolator just went up," said Karis as they arrived. "I kept a link with it when Ghaal pulled us in here. It just severed. Split second databurst of catastrophic damage, no warning. The Rhinos got the same, within microseconds of each other. Perfect coordination."

"Insurgents wouldn't do that. Not many Imperial Guard regiments can be that coordinated, even," Ysabella remarked tersely. "I thought you should be informed. Whatever did that is almost certainly on its way in."

"Battle formation." Tzarine glanced at Morgana, nodded as their eyes met, then turned back to her own squad. "Zekka, are we all ready?"

"Been ready." Zekka seemed subdued, but her confidence still radiated. Tzarine considered saying something, then decided against it. They'd all had their lives turned upside-down. She couldn't expect them to be on top form straight away.

"SERVANTS OF THE CORPSE-GOD! PREPARE TO DIE!"

Tzarine almost flinched as she and her entire group dived for cover. The voice was a roar that echoed around the chamber, a voice filled with nuance and command, a voice that might have been melodious and attractive had it not been underscored with violence and fanaticism.

She'd heard a voice like that before. Its owner that had killed four of her warriors before she'd sent a bolter round through its skull.

And suddenly, something occurred to her.

"Hold!" she called. "I would speak with your leader!"

There was silence. Eyes locked on her from all around, as seemed to be happening a lot today. "Do you all trust me?" she hissed. "We lose nothing by talking to them."

The Traitor Marine took a while in responding, perhaps just as shocked that someone genuinely wanted to talk. "Come out, Corpse-whore," the voice thundered. "Where I can see you."

Every instinct told her to stay hidden. She disobeyed, slowly standing and moving towards the towering doorway that the voice echoed from. "I'm here," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady.

The figure that emerged was huge. All Space Marines were big, but this one seemed a giant of a specimen; for a moment, she thought he was encased in Terminator armour, but no, It was merely heavily spiked and modified power armour. Dark red and silvered armour, with a drooling demonic head superimposed over the eight pointed star of Chaos. In one hand, a huge, jagged mace-like weapon with long spikes erupting at regular intervals; in the other, a bolt pistol covered in chaos iconography that seemed twice the size of her own, sleek weapon.

The Word Bearer scowled down at her, his helmetless features bleached and hairless, with jet black eyes and subtle distortions of the skull that spoke of mutation. "Well?"

"I'm not interested in a fight," she said coolly. No emotion. Show no emotion. "We are servants of the Emperor no more. Look at our handiwork, if you don't believe me."

The Marine glanced towards the drying blood and gore around the dead Venastans, and the dead body of Gharr. "I sense no lie in you, Corpse-whore," he growled. "But what would you have of me?"

Tzarine didn't move a muscle, perfectly still. She gave a small prayer, that she was doing the right thing, not leading them all to ruin. "This is a warzone," she said. "One side no longer wants us. So… perhaps we could arrange something."

Those black eyes narrowed, and there was silence. Then the Word Bearer began to laugh, and It was all Tzarine could do not to cower and cover her ears. What was she thinking, proposing alliance to this monster that made her stomach twist by mere proximity?

"Chaos is the only true answer, Corpse-whore," the Marine said as the last guffaws died. "You do not believe. I can see no touch of the warp on your soul. But nor do you lie. I will accept your offer, little girl. But there is a price to be paid." The bolt pistol flashed and was returned to a holster, quick as lightning, the hand that had carried it balling into a fist before raising one finger. "You will fight for us, and you will do so gladly."

"I will not consent for me and my Sisters to be used as cannon fodder," Tzarine snapped. "It was for that that we turned away." The twisting in her stomach was easing… she thought of the feel of Morgana's lips on her cheek, drawing on her reserves of strength and will.

The Word Bearer chuckled throatily. "She has bite, this one. Of course, little girl. You are far too valuable a tool to be wasted in pointless combat. Do not fear that." A second finger raised. "I cannot force you to worship the Dark Pantheon. Such things are best discovered oneself, and in the end, you will see the glory of Chaos as we do. But until then, you will not undermine me, or cast doubt among our followers… or our enemies. If you fight for me, you will fight for the greater glory of the Dark Pantheon."

Tzarine looked away. She'd known this would come, she'd known the moment she decided to speak with the Chaos Marine. There was no faith left in her heart for the uncaring Emperor. Her only drive left was to protect herself, and her Sisters. But could she accept this? Fighting for the Great Enemy, a force utterly without mercy or sanity whose only goal was the annihilation of the Imperium?

_It won't be forever,_ she thought finally. _When we leave this world, we can go our separate ways and do as we please._ "As you wish," she said aloud.

"And thirdly…" The middle finger shot up. "When we return to our headquarters, you will go upon a journey with me. It will open your eyes."

A journey? The way he said it, it did not sound like the literal meaning. More like some kind of meditation or dream. In the end… she didn't really have a choice. Perhaps they would be able to kill this Marine and his backup, but what after that? No. "I accept your terms."

"Good!" He bellowed with laughter. "This is a day I have _dreamed_ of! The enlightenment of a Corpse-daughter to the true path! I shall make great sacrifice to Tzeentch in gratitude… I am Apostle Korgar. And what is your name, little girl?"

"Tzarine." She smiled humourlessly at him. He was a demagogue of Chaos, he was a traitor to the Imperium, he was loud, brash and arrogant… and she really hated being called a 'corpse-daughter'. "My name is Tzarine. Remember that."

"Tzarine…" Korgar rolled it around his mouth like a choice delicacy. "Then let us go forth, Tzarine corpse-daughter. The time for all out war is not yet upon us. Follow me." He turned, striding back the way he had come, each footfall making dust shiver from the ruins.

Tzarine looked back at her troops, shrugged helplessly, and followed him. With only a little hesitation, they followed her.

Soon the chamber was empty save for dead bodies.

There was a squelching, sucking sound, as the raw, exposed spine of Gharr's headless corpse began to grow out, expanding and moulding into a skull. Flesh oozed from the clean white bone, metal exploding into view over the side of the face. Skin and hair washed over the bloody spectacle, and he sat up, as though merely awaking from sleep.

The Inquisitor chuckled to himself as he stood. "All according to plan…"


	6. Chapter 5

_The character of Golic is used with permission, blessing and advice of his creator, Dawley. Look out for Golic in his story, Dreadnaught._

* * *

><p>There were ten Word Bearers.<p>

Tzarine eyed Korgar and his men calculatingly as she followed the Apostle. She outnumbered them three to one. One good volley of bolter fire… no. It would get people killed, and ultimately, what would be the point?

"Crossing lines fast, Sister," came a soft voice from next to her. She almost flinched at the subtle rebuke in Morgana's tone.

"I didn't see any other options," she replied defensively. "You were with me on Verash, you've seen what a Space Marine can do. Besides… what were we going to do? Just wonder around aimlessly until someone killed us?"

"So we sign up to Chaos?" Morgana shook her head. "Don't misunderstand. I know why you did this, and I agree that we're short on options. I just think we should… think carefully."

"I'm trying, so leave me be," she snapped. Morgana looked hurt, and silently fell back along the line.

"She's right, you know," Zekka said after a while.

Tzarine shot her bodyguard a look, and Zekka shrugged. "Do you know why they seldom take novices from feral worlds? Theological confusion. I have my god, Sister. I've always had my god. The missionaries told me that he and the Emperor were the same, and I believed it with enough passion that they took me in. Now I'm here, and not much has changed in my heart. Wherever we are, my god will be with me. But these men…" she nodded towards the towering figure of Korgar, "…are against everything we've been trained to believe in and protect. Kind of a big about-turn."

Tzarine said nothing for a while, then she nodded. "Even working alongside Chaos worshippers is a risk. But it's one we have to take. All we can do is take one step at a time."

Zekka nodded back, and fell silent.

Tzarine glanced around her troops, trying to gauge the feelings. She saw uncertainty, fear… and helplessness. It made her heart and stomach try to twist into knots, seeing those emotions on the faces of Sororitas; others might flee in terror or cower in doubt, but not the Sisters of Battle.

Unless you took away their foundations. _Then we're just women in armour with big guns,_ she thought with a humourless smile.

She glanced back at Morgana, then away again hurriedly. That was one more complication than she needed right now. For a moment, her mind strayed back to that brief moment… then she shoved it away. No time, no space for that kind of attachment. Not now. Relationships had always been prohibited, and now was certainly not the time to leave that behind. It had always been enough to be friends.

The Word Bearers were talking amongst themselves, and she eagerly tried to listen in, grateful for the distraction. The tongue was an unfamiliar one, though, and she scowled behind her helmet. It sounded like some native dialect, maybe the tongue of their birth world, wherever that had been. More than that was hard to discern, as their helmets stripped the words of any tone or inflection that might have hinted their subject matter.

"Attend me, Tzarine Corpse-daughter!" Korgar suddenly barked.

She was half-tempted to ignore him, but she obeyed, moving up the line. A pair of Word Bearers glanced down at her briefly before returning to their watch for potential enemies. The Apostle himself was simply too big to stand alongside in the narrow corridors, so she just slotted herself in behind him. "What?" she said. She might be obeying his orders and playing his games, but she'd give him as little respect as she dared.

He didn't seem to mind the implicit rudeness. "Your vehicles are gone, and the only path from here is with us. What do you believe in, Corpse-daughter?"

Tzarine hesitated. It was a dangerous question… and suddenly, she realised that she did not have an answer for the Chaos Space Marine. She turned it over in her mind, and finally answered, "Myself, and my Sisters."

"You spent your lives believing in your dead god, and now you abandon him? I know something of faith, Corpse-daughter. I know something of Sororitas also. It was I that destroyed and sacrificed an entire mission of yours, and I grew to know your kind quite intimately in that time." He ignored her sudden, impulsive fist-clenching. "Their faith was foolish, misplaced, futile, but I could respect their strength. What are you, then?"

"Faithless," she replied coolly. "Just enough that they sent us on a suicide mission, which we opted out of."

"I know you do not think you believe, Corpse-daughter," Korgar growled mildly. "You would not be here, a willing servant and listening to my words if it were otherwise. But can I trust you? I am no fool, I saw you weighing your odds."

"From the stories, no Traitor Marine ever knows trust."

Korgar stopped dead, and the massive, clawed power fist flexed dangerously. "You will not use that phrase of me or my soldiers, Corpse-daughter. It demeans us. Traitors we are, but only to a lie – and that is the least of our qualities. We are _Word Bearers_. We were the first to see the light, and we bring that light to all."

"Then don't call me Corpse-daughter," she shot back. "It's hardly a flattering name."

"I will do as I please. _Corpse-daughter_. Now answer my question. Why should I trust you?"

Tzarine shot a look at a grating sound from one of the Word Bearers, but the Marine did not return it. After a moment, she concluded it had probably been a vox glitch. For a moment, she distracted herself from the frustrating conversation, noting the slightly uneven colouring that implied recently repainted armour, the slight differences in the way the Marine held himself… the bulky, obviously artificial hands, the sleek, advanced armour compared to the clunkier sets worn by the other Marines…

Scrutinised, the Word Bearer looked down at her. Even through the helmet, he seemed to give her a look filled with more guile and cunning than she'd ever seen. Internally, she noted him down as one to be wary of, then hurriedly turned back to Korgar, who seemed to be getting impatient.

"Why do you trust your men?" she said.

"They follow the light of Chaos, and as their guide in that light, I trust them."

"This is a trick question, isn't it?" Tzarine replied. "You said you wouldn't force us, Korgar. I thought it was only of value if we converted willingly."

"I'm not forcing you," the Apostle replied. Tzarine glanced around, realising that they should have exited the cathedral by now – when instead, they were going down. "But I do demand that your minds be open. I can see your soul, Corpse-daughter. It is not open."

"First you tell me that you don't expect me to lose my belief in the Emperor overnight, now you're demanding I prepare to turn to Chaos. Make up your mind."

Korgar growled. "We talk in circles."

_No, you just don't make as much sense as you think you do. Maybe Chaos worship really does send you insane._ "So what now?"

Korgar had come to a halt at a seeming dead end. With seemingly no effort, he pushed at a massive stone slab, which slid aside to reveal a passageway into the earth. "I had hoped to gain answers from you. It would be easier that way. You will have to discover your heart soon, and it will be by less polite methods. The Gods are not patient."

Tzarine followed him into the passage. She'd known that there were catacombs under the cathedral, of course… but it seemed like there was more to it than that. The tunnel widened, the Imperial-laid slabs being replaced by smooth stone that seemed much, much older.

Then it opened up into a massive crossroads. Passages led off in all directions, and men, women, even children were scattered around, honing weapons, praying… it had to be half a kilometre across.

Tzarine scanned across the area. The whole city had to be honeycombed by this… hideout? Meeting place? More Word Bearers were visible as well; she tried to count the giant, red-armoured figures, and came to around thirty.

Forty Chaos Space Marines. This was more than just an insurgency, more than a Chaos cult. She looked sharply at Korgar, who seemed to be beaming with pride at the spectacle. "Tarrin, take the Corpse-daughters and find them a place to stay. Guard them." Don't let them go anywhere, was the unspoken addendum to that. Tzarine made to follow the Marine, and felt a massive hand on her shoulder. "Not you," Korgar growled. "There is something I must show you."

"A journey?" she guessed.

He grinned, and began striding towards the centre of the cavern – where, she saw, there was a hole in the ground. A tight spiral stairway, guarded by four Word Bearers with huge power swords.

* * *

><p>Helga and Morgana watched the pair go, and then received a rude shove with a bolter. Helga spun, hands automatically going to her pistols, and was restrained by Morgana. The Word Bearer with the bionic hands snorted. "Nothing to see."<p>

"Where is he taking her?" Morgana asked.

"The relic chamber. Move."

Helga folded her arms. "How about a 'please'? That come in your vocabulary?"

There was a tense moment, and then the Marine chuckled darkly. "I see you have spirit. Your name?"

"Call me Helga." The Seraphim slowly raised herself from combat posture, and chuckled as well. "Nice to see that at least one of you has a sense of humour. What's yours?"

"Golic." Golic gestured with his bolter. "_Please_ move. …wait."

Helga glanced around, and realised Morgana was nowhere to be seen. The two exchanged a look.

_I am not here to babysit you,_ Golic seemed to say.

_Good. So forget about her,_ Helga seemed to reply.

Golic chuckled again, and Helga set off at a swift pace to catch up with the rest of the column.

* * *

><p>The bottom of the staircase faced a massive circular door, made of some metal Tzarine couldn't identify. Korgar pushed it open with a steady grinding sound, then gestured for her to go in.<p>

"This is why Chaos has taken such a root in this world," the Apostle said with hushed awe. "Many of the objects here are mere trinkets. Some are powerful artefacts. And there is one thing that is of more value than the entire planet."

There were swords, altars, many objects she could not begin to identify… and sitting, resting against the far wall of the small chamber, was a huge mirror. Or it looked like a mirror at first.

Her skin crawled as she looked at the shimmering, misty surface. "What is it?" she whispered.

"It has many names," Korgar murmured, as he gestured for her to approach it. "The humans who first found it called it the Azure Gate. The Eldar term translates roughly to 'Forbidden Eye'. When men of the corpse-god found it, they named it the Mirror of the Damned. Who knows what its builders named it? It was old when the Eldar first tamed fire."

Tzarine reluctantly took a step closer. The surface seemed to twist, forming recognisable shapes. "And what does it do?"

"It is a portal to the Warp. The builders knew their craft, for it only goes one way; things cannot enter our realm that did not first go through the Gate. While there the common predators cannot touch you. When the Gods first sensed this bubble in their realm, a place they could not touch, they chose to watch it. Any who go through will be subject to their gaze. This is your test, Corpse-daughter. Go through. Endure their scrutiny. If you survive and return, I will welcome and trust you. The will of the Gods is not to be questioned or denied."

She stared at the mirror. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I will have every one of your Sisters tortured to death on the altars, while you watch, before you suffer the same fate."

She almost snapped and attacked him, but she had no hope of defeating the Chaos Marine. No hope… and no choice.

She'd chosen this path, and now she had to face the consequences.

Korgar turned away, muttering something in whatever tongue the Word Bearers used. She ignored him, taking another step towards the Azure Gate.

"Well, Corpse-daughter?"

She closed her eyes, and touched the surface. The mist lunged out, engulfing her, and she faded from view as the mirror settled into quiescence again.

"NO!" Morgana screamed.

Korgar looked at the Sister as she stumbled into the chamber, one of the Word Bearer guards behind her. He left at a gesture from the Apostle. "You said you had to follow her, Corpse-daughter," he growled at her. "Why?"

Morgana swallowed. "Because… because we need each other. She's so certain in herself, but she has nothing to guide her any more. Even if it was a lie before."

"And you would be her guide?" Korgar moved with terrifying speed for so large a figure, a huge gauntlet clamping around her neck and easily lifting her off the ground. "Why?"

The second-in-command closed her eyes for a moment. Confession to a Chaos Space Marine… it wasn't how she'd envisioned this moment. "I love her," she whispered.

Korgar looked at her flatly for a moment, then began to laugh, dropping her unceremoniously. "Then go. Follow your love. See how much good it does you both."

He was still laughing when Morgana touched the mirror, and vanished.


	7. Chapter 6

The moment awareness returned, Tzarine stumbled.

She stood on a titanic plain, empty, featureless, colossal winds and sandstorms whipping across it. She stumbled again, then fell to her knees, unable to keep her footing. Was this… the warp?

The sky was red, she realised. No sun, no moon, no stars, no clouds; just a sickly red sheet that seemed to merge into the red sand at the horizon. There was a sudden, terrible dizziness, and she closed her eyes.

The wind faded, and she opened them again. She still knelt on the hard, red ground, but now… she was surrounded by mirrors. Blurred, indistinct mirrors, but she could see herself in them; or at least, her outline. Slowly, she got to her feet, hands instinctively grasping for her weapons.

A hand descended on her shoulder, and she spun, elbowing at the sudden intruder. The figure stumbled back, and then straightened.

It was – or at least, appeared to be – a Sister in full power armour. A neural lash easily coiled in one hand, the armour a perfect mirror of Tzarine's own… but bare head was wrong. Stretched, inhuman, with slitted pupils and skin so pale it was almost blue. "Welcome," it murmured.

Tzarine raised the bolt pistol. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The figure stretched luxuriantly. "A guide. I know all about you, Katarina Tzarine… and I can help you grow. You've come a long way, done magnificent things. Now… now you can be so much more."

"Just give me your damn test and let me go." The bolt pistol remained steady, steady as it had when she'd shot Gharr. The memory seemed suddenly vivid, as though she were reliving it… the way his skull had fragmented, the spray of blood…

"Test?" the daemon echoed, breaking her reverie. "There is no test, Tzarine. You were sent here to learn something, and to choose. Your only test was in coming here in the first place."

"Then I have no further business here." She turned to go back through the portal… and found nothing.

"You may not leave until we say so…" came that purring voice. "Perhaps Korgar did not make that clear. You may be safe in this little bubble, safe from the Furies and the predations of the ordinary… but not from us. We cannot follow you through your little gateway, but if we do not wish you to leave… you cannot."

A spark of fear jolted through Tzarine as she looked at the figure again.

"So you will see what we have to show you."

Fear submerged beneath sudden anger. "Then change that shape." The daemon raised an eyebrow, and Tzarine snapped the bolt pistol up again. "Change it. You haven't earned that armour. To wear it insults me and all I hold dear. _CHANGE IT!"_

The daemon melted until all that was left was a shimmer in the air, like heat haze. "Rage…" it hissed.

The mirror before her suddenly cleared, and she saw herself. Her reflection looked up, met her gaze… and howled…

_She leapt aside, the Word Bearer's chainsword crunching into the ground. She gave him no time to retaliate, her axe cleaving into his chest, the screaming teeth chewing into flesh and bone, blood spraying out and over her pitted armour and bare face. He fell as she ripped the weapon back, slashing it forward and whirling it around, severing the Traitor Marine's head. More Word Bearers were coming for her, but they could not stop her. She was violence incarnate, an unstoppable fury…_

_The axe drew blood and ended lives with every cut. They were helpless before her, and she revelled in the raw power, the blood that drenched her… and then it was Korgar standing before her, fear in his eyes before she split his torso, her free hand punching in and tearing out his hearts to feast on them…_

…and she stumbled back.

It had been so real. She crumpled to all fours, retching, the taste of filthy, mutated blood still in her mouth.

Heavy boots stood before her, and she slowly looked up, seeing the blood drenched version of herself, befanged and clutching Korgar's bloody head. "I can make you unstoppable," she snarled. "Your foes will die by the droves. Isn't that what you want? To be forever free from fear and doubt? To know that to oppose you is to die? There are many you wish to kill, to purge from their miserable existences. I can give you that and more."

Slowly Tzarine pushed herself to her feet, struggling for answers; and then she saw movement in another of the mirrors. She turned, looking at another copy, this one…

…_bloated. Awash with putrescence and decay. And yet alive, so very alive. She looked at the Guard moving towards her, their lasguns blazing, and laughed. Every cell of her being was more alive then their entire bodies. She could sense every disease, every malady that wracked her. The pain was everywhere, but what did she care for pain? Her blade slashed into the first Guardsman, and he convulsed as his flesh rotted and maggots ate his organs alive. More impacts pounded into her, yet even where her armour had cracked and split, she felt nothing. Pathetic. How could you think to harm so much life? She was _immortal_… her blade swept out again, destroying her assailants, until her gaze returned to the first one. He had stopped convulsing, and a broken smile was painted across his features. She smiled back as she leaned down, planting a kiss on his forehead. He understood, understood the joy and the gift. All life was precious. What did it matter what form it took? He would die soon, but he would give life to a hundred new poxes. All was right with the world…_

"You do not care for slaughter," said the pestilent mirror image, as 'reality' reasserted itself. The voice was a wet, rasping burble, and as she spoke, Tzarine saw the flies and maggots crawling in the mirror's mouth. "Everything dies. Kill all you wish, ultimately you will fall and die. I can prevent that. I can make you so alive that you will never end, so that you can protect your Sisters forever…"

The stench of the plagued apparition nearly made Tzarine throw up, but as she tried to frame her thoughts, another apparition loomed…

_She considered the battlefield before her, the lines of men and women ready to die for her. The Imperials outnumbered them, but they would lose. She knew that with as much certainty as the imminent arrival of the assassin. She smiled as the slight figure slipped into the tent, not even bothering to turn around. "You are expected," she murmured._

_The assassin hesitated, unsure, and then fell as Zekka pinned her down. "As you predicted, my lady," the bodyguard said. "What shall we do with the creature?"_

"_Bring her before me," she said. "I will break her mind open."_

"_To learn the enemy disposition?"_

_She laughed at her subordinate's naïveté. "Of course not. For my own entertainment. I already know all I need to. Tell Helga to launch the attack, precisely as instructed." She already knew that the enemy artillery was vulnerable, and with its loss, victory was assured._

_Fate was a musical instrument, to be plucked by those with the fingers for it… and as the squirming assassin was brought before her, she knew that it would take exactly twenty three minutes to dismantle the barriers in her mind, and another five to destroy her spirit and turn her into a puppet. Two days for her new toy to eliminate the enemy commander, and then three months of amusement before the puppet killed herself._

_It was all laid out before her…_

The vision faded, and she found herself staring into the bottomless depths of the sorcerer-image's eyes, a small, supremely confident smirk on her lips. "What do you need of blunt power or resilience when you can twist the skeins of fate itself? Killing your enemies? Outlasting them? Why do either, when you can totally and utterly dominate them? Why stop at keeping yourself and your Sisters alive, when you could rise and dominate a planet, a system, an entire sector – maybe the entire galaxy? Power is the only power worth considering, Tzarine. Never forget that."

Slowly, Tzarine turned to the fourth mirror, sensing that there was more to come. The final image sharpened…

…_Zophia looked up at her, tears in her eyes. "I was wrong!" the Sister cried. "Forgive me. I did not realise… didn't know what you were…"_

_The sobs were music to her ears, each quivering movement from her prisoner an ecstasy. And yet there were no chains, no weapons. She held Zophia, and all of kneeling figures around, by merely being. She smiled, feeling her wings, her angelic visage. A living saint, they thought her. They would all follow her, all obey her every whim. "Pray to me!" she said. And they did, the sounds like liquid joy in her ears. Then they were moving closer, wanting to touch their saint… and she let them, her armour falling away, each touch a moment of heaven… she basked in it…_

…her eyes opened to that perfect image. One that she might have followed herself, the aching beauty that begged her to submit.

"Kill? Survive? Scheme?" the 'angel' whispered, each word full of a thousand dark promises. "I can make your every waking moment full of pleasures you could not imagine. I can give you control of any you cast your eye upon. I can give you anything you want, even a return to the Imperium, to do my work from within…"

Tzarine slowly turned around, staring at the four copies. Her throat was dry, and she swallowed, but it did little to help. Now she understood why so many fell. Why Chaos had such maddening allure, why people like Korgar put such mindless devotion into their service to the dark gods.

She wanted it. Her mind swam with the sudden need. The power she could gain, the potential… each of the visions had been narcotic…

"No."

"What did you say?" the wind hissed.

"No," she said again, stronger. Resolved. "This is wrong."

"You have nothing else!" the daemonic voice shrieked at her. "You have abandoned your Emperor. You have no friends, no allies. We can change that!"

"Yes, you can," Tzarine said. "But at what price? What are you? Emotions, desires, darkness made manifest. We created you. You're our children. Parents should not worship their children."

"Even if they are worthy of it?" the voice demanded.

"Children should serve their parents," she snapped back. "I will not bend my knees to you. I will make no sacrifices and I will not spread your will. I refuse to become a mere slave to another uncaring force. You offer me lies and scraps and expect me to give you all in return. I refuse!"

The wind was rising, and with a thundercrack, the mirrors shattered, the images wisping away – and the storm hit her, knocking her to the ground. Towering columns of dust whirled around her, and she screamed up at the sky. "I REFUSE! YOU WILL SERVE _ME!"_

"Arrogance! Impudence!" the voice shrieked back. "Many have thought to use Chaos to their own ends, but none have thought to demand it from the Gods themselves!"

"YOU WILL SERVE ME!" Tzarine screamed again. "ACCEPT OR RELEASE ME!"

Light flashed blindingly, and suddenly the sandstorm and the wind was gone. She stood in an old-fashioned amphitheatre, the seats packed with indistinct figures shrieking abuse at her. She spun, and saw the daemon. It was different from before; a spindly form, with purplish skin, black eyes and massive pincers, dark leather barely concealing the sexualised shape. "Not so easy," the daemonette hissed. "You demand much, Tzarine. Prove you're worthy."

Her chainsword roared to life, and she lunged.

The daemonette was inhumanly fast, dancing around her strikes, the wickedly jagged blade in the humanoid arm scraping across her armour almost teasingly. But Tzarine didn't stop, a whirlwind of force, trying to read the creature's movements, predict its attacks.

The pincer suddenly darted from nowhere, wrapping around her sword arm, crushing the armour with unnatural strength. Her other arm snapped out, and fired.

The bolter round punched through the daemonette's shoulder, removing the offending arm, and it stumbled back. Tzarine lunged forward, the freed chainsword eager to press her advantage, but she paused as the figure smiled, and twisted.

"So you can fight," it said, the shape solidifying as a mirror of her own. The mirrored chainsword raised, snarling to life. "Try this."

Tzarine's lip twisted. "I told you not to wear that armour."

The mirror just giggled, and then attacked.

To her relief, the doppelganger seemed slowed by the armour, not as fast as before, but it was fresh, uninjured. Tzarine dodged aside, and then focused on that same armour.

Battle Sisters had to train for years to earn their plate. It would stay with them for the rest of their lives. Blood, sweat, tears and devotion was marked into every square inch. And now this _thing_ mocked her with it.

Powered by pure rage, she went on the offensive. The mirror laughed again, and then stopped, as its counters were battered aside, each clash of screaming blades a titanic struggle. With one final cut, the chainsword cleaved into the breastplate, knocking the doppelganger down.

"You can use anger, then," it hissed. "But what about fear?"

The broken armour fell away like a shall, the chainsword in its hand sprouting massively. Strips of cloth sprouted from the naked form, and Tzarine took an instinctive step back as the figure slowly rose to its feet. When it spoke, it was in a low, broken monotone that made her skin crawl.

"This is your fear, is it not, Tzarine? The Repentia. The loss of identity and self in a meaningless quest for salvation. The annihilation of self. Face your fear, Tzarine. It would claim you."

The eviscerator raised, and with a ululating howl, the Repentia swung it. Tzarine leapt aside, heart pounding. The daemon spoke truth. This was the fate she feared, more than death, more than anything. To become nothing. To see her own features, bloody and broken, with nothing but that terrible drive in her eyes…

"No," she breathed, lunging aside from another huge swing, the chainsword kicking sand up as it sunk into the ground. "No," she repeated, as she raised the bolt pistol and fired a volley of rounds. They punched into the doppelganger, blood and bone spraying, but somehow it kept coming, the blade swinging again. This time she was too slow, and she was knocked to the ground by a glancing blow. She kept firing, until the gun finally clicked empty, and the Repentia kept coming, held together by daemonic magic alone. The blade raised to kill her, and Tzarine lunged, her own weapon swinging. It took the doppelganger at the wrists, the eviscerator falling aside, and then cleaved through the neck. Headless, the body fell.

"Is that all you have?" Tzarine snarled.

"Tzarine?"

She spun, chainsword whirring to life again, raised to hack down, and she froze at the sight of Morgana.

_It's not real. It's another daemon. Kill it. Do it, now, before it strikes you!_

Morgana stared for a moment, then closed her eyes. Waiting.

The chainsword died, and Tzarine lowered it and her eyes. "You win," she said bitterly. "I won't – I _can't_ fight that. Do as you wish. I won't let you turn me against my own Sisters."

With a dull thud of connecting ceramite, she felt arms pull her close, and gauntleted, metal fingers running through her hair. "I'm real," Morgana murmured.

"You can't be…" she muttered.

"Korgar thought it would be entertaining to let me follow you."

"A man of little insight," the wind hissed. Tzarine jerked away swiftly as the corpse of the Repentia shimmered and reformed into the pale-skinned Sister form that it had first taken. "You win," it added with a razor-like grin. "I am yours to command now. You are worthy enough for that."

Morgana looked at Tzarine questioningly as she took a step towards the daemon. "The words of a daemon are no proof."

"Of course not," it purred. The armour melted away, exposing the pale skin over its heart. A knife flashed, and the creature staggered for a moment, hissing, but continued to slice into its own flesh. Tzarine watched in morbid fascination, as with one final crack of bone and tear of flesh, a pulsing red organ was torn free. Seemingly none the worse, the daemon knelt, holding its heart up to her, the armour reforming over the gaping, bleeding wound.

Tzarine slowly took the quivering flesh, and it slowly moulded in her grasp, changing into a necklace with a gore-red gemstone. "While you hold that, I am bound to you," the daemon said, with only a slight strain in its words.

Tzarine glanced up, and then on an impulse, squeezed the gem. The daemon mewled, collapsing to the ground, and the Sister nodded in satisfaction. "Who and what are you, then? I know you created this show, so you have some power."

"You may call me… Llthaanhir," the daemon said, slowly forcing itself to its feet. "I am one of the favoured chosen of Slaanesh. You have yourself a slave of no small import, Mistress Tzarine. Call on me, and I will do your bidding to the best of my ability."

"Then let us out of this place," Tzarine said, slipping the necklace on, realising that the gem was glowing warmly as it touched her skin.

Llthaanhir bowed its… no, _her_ head. Maybe genders were meaningless for daemons, but something in Tzarine's brain insisted that it was a she. The amphitheatre faded, leaving only the endless plain, and a little distance away, the glowing, shifting surface of the Azure Gate.

"What have you done?" Morgana murmured uncertainly.

"Made an ally," Tzarine replied, glancing back at the motionless figure. "They tested me, Morgana… tested me, and I almost fell. The power they offered me… but the price was too high, and the rewards full of lies. We need something, Morgana. If I can use this without getting too close to it…"

"We all know the stories of rogue Inquisitors who have tried that and ultimately fallen, Sister," Morgana said.

"I know, I know…" Tzarine glanced back again. "But they didn't have you to keep them balanced."

Morgana smiled as they touched the portal, and faded from the warp.

Llthaanhir watched them go, and then sighed theatrically. "Speak, damn you."

A daemonette faded into view next to her. "She failed your tests. Why seal your loyalty to a weakling mortal, when one such as Abaddon would burn a sector to ashes for half as much?"

Llthaanhir shook her head with an amused snort. "My dear, don't try to think. Slaanesh created you to do his will, not to think. Why else do you think the Dark Gods are so keen to find mortal champions? You lack imagination. She didn't fail. On the contrary, she passed with flying colours."

"You _let_ her win."

"Indulge me my pet project. Now go, don't you have some soul to torment? Await my call. She'll want us soon enough."


	8. Interlude

_From the record of Lieutenant-Colonel Tarth Korvian, Venastan 3__rd__ Mechanised Infantry._

_7623760.M41, 52__nd__ day of pacification of Senaav III. Two more scout units vanished in Senaav city. General Van Dorl ordered the newly arrived Baziin 9__th__ forces to make a sweep, seems the place isn't as dead as we thought. Heavy resistance and conflicting reports. Definitely something off about this fething planet._

_7629760.M41, 54__th__ day of pacification. It's confirmed, at least three squads of Baziin have gone renegade. Wild rumours of some kind of 'heretic saints' among some of the insurgent prisoners. Van Dorl has ordered us to suppress this, especially among the Baziin. Word is that they're a funny bunch, real zealous, so why are they suddenly having traitors among the ranks?_

_7640760.M41, 57__th__ day. Insurgents laid a trap. Nearly thirty men killed by mines in the road, and that was just the start. Our Baziin support backstabbed us and started throwing grenades at the Russes. Finally found out what's got them so riled up. Those damned Sisters that were meant to die seem to be running the Insurgency, their Seraphim came down and took out our Executioner before vanishing again. Reinforcements managed to destroy the Baziin scum, but we paid a heavy price._

_7642760.M41, 58__th__ day. General Van Dorl is dead. Traitor Space Marines came out of nowhere and destroyed our command structure while our main forces were fighting the renegade Baziin. Inquisitor Gharr has instructed all Baziin to hand in their weapons and return to orbit. What started as simple extermination is getting out of control. We need more men. I've taken command of what's left. Hopefully with air support we can claw back some control here._

_7661760.M41, 64__th__ day. Lightning and Marauder attack runs have driven the renegades and insurgents into hard cover. The only way we're going to kill them is by hard street fighting, mostly through the old capital. Throne, what is it about that place that attracts them so? Gharr ordered the last of the Baziin executions today. What's left of the regiment is on the other side._

_7677760.M41, 70__th__ day. Those Sisters seem to be everywhere. We rarely see them on the front lines, but the same words seem to be on every insurgent's lips. 'The Dark Saints! The Dark Saints!' Makes me sick to my stomach that such ideals of purity could sink so low. I've asked the Inquisitor when we'll be getting more troops, but he never answers._

_7682760.M41, 72__nd__ day. The 'Dark Saints' led a raid on our supply train. I was nearby and diverted my men to intercept. I've never fought Sororitas before, and if the real thing are half as deadly, I pray to the Emperor that I never have to. They had a kind of brutal efficiency that cut through everything. At least they killed swiftly and cleanly, no mutilations or lingering, like the insurgents or their fething Word Bearer supporters. Private Hylace has taken to calling them 'Chaos Battle Bitches', and it seems to be catching on._

_7686760.M41, 73__rd__ day. We're losing. There's word all over the planet of uprisings, even in places we'd thought were secure. I've told the Inquisitor that we can't stop this. He told me help was on the way, but wouldn't be more specific._

_7690760.M41, 75__th__ day. Throne be praised – a Fighting Company of Black Templar Adeptus Astartes has arrived on Senaav. Forty Space Marines gives us a real edge, but we'll still be stretched thin._

_7700760.M41, 78__th__ day. The Black Templars just bombed the city of Vangelium from orbit, claiming it was irrevocably tainted and overrun. I trust their judgement, but it feels like we're crossing a line. We were trying to save this world. What now?_

_7707760.M41, 81__st__ day. A month since the late General Van Dorl declared we were down to cleanup, a month since those Battle Bitches went renegade. The Templars fought the Word Bearers to a standstill near Senaav city, nothing but more bloodshed. Still those fething insurgents were screaming about their Dark Saints. Venastan casualties have reached seventy percent. We can't hold much longer._


	9. Chapter 7

The blood didn't seem to want to come off. Helga scowled, because this was a problem; far too much of the stuff coated the repainted midnight armour.

"I heard you killed a Templar."

Helga glanced up at Tzarine, shrugged, went back to scrubbing. "Caught him unawares. Inferno pistol to the helmet often offends."

"You then proceeded to use his bolter to cut down half a dozen Venastans before bugging out." Tzarine had apparently already tended to her own armour, as it was spotlessly clean. "I ordered you to stay back, Helga."

The Seraphim paused, and rose to her feet. "What is your problem? You've been after me ever since we started fighting this damn war. You signed us up to Korgar, you went on that little jaunt into the warp, you made us into this icon for the insurgents. Now what, you _don't_ want me to fight?"

Tzarine twitched, then stalked over, leaning close and whispering harshly. "Because I keep expecting to turn around one day and start screaming about skulls for the skull throne. You like it too much. And I don't trust that Word Bearer you associate with."

Helga's expression froze while her eyes turned molten.

"Yes, I signed us up. Yes, I've played Korgar's tune. But no way in hell will I let any of my Sisters turn to Chaos. We're surrounded by it, and we're tempted by it every waking moment, but I won't let it happen. Do you understand me?"

Helga's hand flashed, and one of her prized inferno pistols levelled at Tzarine. "Don't insult me," she snarled. "I spent my life on my knees to a god, and the only time I found any kind of devotion was when I was killing in his name. Now it turns out I don't need the Emperor's name on my lips to enjoy ending lives. But I will never be a servant of the Warp. I'm not going on my knees, not for you, not for Korgar, and certainly not for Khorne. Chaos is _weakness_. Those who follow it don't have the strength of will to account for their own actions. I will carry out my vendetta against the universe in my way, by my rules, and nobody else's. Accuse me of being one of _them_ again and I swear I will pull this trigger."

"Careful," a harsh growl remarked.

Tzarine looked up sharply at the towering form of Golic. Helga merely shrugged, putting down the pistol and returning to her armour. "I know, I know. Don't make that speech around the Word Bearers, it'll get me in trouble."

Golic just looked at them, but the Sisters were used to his silences. "But you don't mind," Tzarine remarked. "Not a very good Word Bearer, are you?"

"Remember what you said they do for fun, Golic?" Helga said. She tried to mimic the Chaos Marine's growl. "Word Bearers believe in worship, not fun."

Golic again said nothing, merely folding his arms.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep up that strong and silent routine." Helga looked at Tzarine. "Why are you still here? Get lost. We're done."

Tzarine thought about saying something, and then gave up, leaving the little side-chamber. She heard a growl behind her, and a laugh, and she shook her head. She _really_ didn't like how close those two were.

Was this all just so much useless effort, though? Korgar liked them. This whole Dark Saints charade amused him immensely, and he kept needling her to take it up a level. She'd steadfastly refused. Repainting their armour to the current midnight blue was something she'd probably have chosen herself, but she'd had to fight tooth and nail to avoid having Chaos iconography daubed all over it. He'd left her little choice but to watch over the insurgents' rituals, but she was there in body only, blocking out all that she saw, little more than a statue.

She'd fought enough wars to know that this one was close to its end, one way or the other. There were fewer Venastans and fewer Templars every time battle was joined. Thousands, tens of thousands of insurgents had died, but the Imperial forces were being bled dry. After it was over… what then? Would they be trailed around as Word Bearer lapdogs for the rest of their lives? This had been meant to be a temporary measure.

"Sister?" Tzarine glanced at the source, a smile playing over her features at the sight of Morgana.

"What is it?" she asked.

Morgana shrugged, excessively casual. "Just thought… you know…"

Tzarine glanced around, then followed her second-in-command, her mind focusing. It was an easy deception; it was fairly common (if dubiously accurate) knowledge that they were together. Morgana had hit on the idea of using it as a secret signal.

Korgar had assigned the Sisters to a fairly luxuriant set of quarters, as befitted their role as 'saints'. It meant that they had some privacy, and were rarely disturbed. This meant that occasionally, they were used for storing more than just weapons and their owners.

The Venastan officer was a mess, his uniform in tatters and blood dripping from numerous cuts. Zekka loomed over the forcefully seated prisoner; her interrogation methods were not exactly gentle, but she was reliable, loyal and sensible, and Tzarine had left the 'softening up' in her hands. The door to beautifully furnished stone chamber was closed and sealed, and Tzarine looked at him thoughtfully.

He glowered back through the one eye not swollen shut. "Whores," he muttered.

Zekka raised a hand, but Tzarine gestured, and she slowly lowered it before fading into the background. "Not terribly polite," Tzarine replied coolly. "Believe me. I represent a far better alternative than my allies." The word 'allies' stuck in her throat, but she forced it out. Don't show disunity before the enemy.

"Won't tell you anything."

Tzarine watched him thoughtfully. "Why did you surrender? Are you a coward?"

In truth, she wasn't sure why she'd taken him and then gone to so much effort to keep the man hidden, let alone why he'd allowed himself to be put in this position.

He lurched to his feet, and drunkenly made a swing for her. She caught his fist casually, and shoved him back into the chair. "A fool, then."

"Doesn't matter," he grunted. "Won't say anything."

"Why doesn't it matter?"

He grinned a sickly grin. "They'll kill you all."

Tzarine leaned back against the wall. Unconsciously, her hand strayed to the pulsing warmth around her neck.

_Llthaanhir could break him…_ She rejected the thought, snatched her hand away, aware of Morgana's gaze. She'd not summoned the daemonette once, and the longer she resisted the urge, the better. "Keep working on him," she said, and then left.

Morgana caught her shoulder, closing the chamber behind her as a thud indicated Zekka had begun again. "We're going down a dark path here," she whispered. "I called you in because it didn't seem like we were getting anywhere. The man Is a loyal servant of the Emperor. Just because he abandoned us doesn't mean we have the right to brutalise someone who still believes."

"He's an enemy," Tzarine replied.

"Is he?"

The pair looked at the source of the new voice sharply, then fractionally relaxed. Rhia was one of them, one of the original five, even. But… ever more withdrawn.

"Is he?" the Celestian repeated. "Maybe we are faithless, but we're fighting against humanity itself here. You can't look at Korgar and his rabble and think that they represent anything other than annihilation."

"We're committed," Tzarine said. "What would you have me do, change sides? Korgar won't allow it and the Imperium will just execute us."

"We can't continue like this," Rhia said softly. "I can't continue like this." Without another word, she left.

"I'm worried about her," said Morgana eventually.

Tzarine shook her head. "I don't know what I can do. Helga I can handle. Most of them trust me to lead them, throne knows why. But how am I supposed to react to someone like Rhia?"

"Watch your back." Morgana shook her head as well. "Janna and Kaleen are both recovered from their injuries. We're lucky that's the worst we've suffered in this war."

"What about our Stormtrooper friend?"

Varn Karis had left them soon after Korgar had declared open war against the Imperium, taking command of some of the ragtag Baziin.

"I don't know. Hard to tell anything about someone over a vox link. She's stayed out of trouble, though. And she certainly sounded pretty sane and together. I don't think she's turned, probably just playing the same game we are."

"Maybe." Tzarine fell silent, thinking back to the Venastan officer, then further back, over all the decisions she'd made, the people she'd killed.

"Did I do the right thing?" she asked aloud.

Morgana kissed her on the cheek gently. "Second guessing won't get us anywhere." Then she pulled back.

For a moment, Tzarine wished she had stayed close. Then the thought was banished. Even if she hadn't despised Korgar and his men, she would have treated this place as an enemy stronghold. It was no place to let emotion take control. Morgana understood, and respected that need for solitude and strength. If…

No ifs. Ifs were dangerous.

"I should go see the Apostle," she said, turning away. "See what the latest news is."

"Wait." Morgana hesitated. "I saw you touch the heart again."

"I haven't used it. You know I haven't."

"But you want to."

Tzarine shook her head. "No, I –"

"You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. I didn't face what you did beyond the Gate, Tzarine, but I know they nearly broke you. You want that daemon's strength."

"It won't get us anything." Tzarine finally turned back, looking Morgana in the eye. "I know that if I use it, it'll be a line I can't go back from. I… maybe they did break me. Just enough to know that if I start down that road, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop. Besides… what am I meant to tell the others? I've been forbidding them from going near the Ruinous Powers, but I cut a deal myself? That'll go down well." She hesitated. "You never told me what you saw in there, before they allowed us to meet."

Morgana just smiled a little sadly.

Tzarine sighed quietly, pulling her helmet on. "Stay safe. I'll go find Korgar."

Despite having mostly lived in these underground tunnels for the past month, Tzarine still wasn't sure exactly how they connected up. She had a rough idea that the little chain that contained the rooms and armoury assigned to her unit was underneath the old administratum in the city above, but she wouldn't swear to it.

Korgar's chambers were some distance away, in pride of place next to that massive junction, right below the cathedral. This meant that in order to get there, she had to pass through the mobs of rebels and insurgents who mostly roughed it in the tunnels.

At first, she'd worried about them. Most seemed to be fanatics, and the rest were clearly psychotic, always fiddling with their weapons and muttering unintelligible prayers. Then Korgar had declared that she was some kind of chaos saint, and the it had turned to utter devotion. Now… it was just plain aggravating.

Murmurs and cries of "The saint! The saint!" spread out before her. She could easily recognise where they all came from; the ragtag, often dirty and raggedly-clothed insurgents, the Baziin in what remained of their uniforms, with their carefully maintained lasguns, the scraps of other forces. Tattoos, brands, cult markings. Back when she'd still been a lackey of the Ecclesiarchy, she would have burned all of these men and women without second thought, even if she hadn't known who and what they were.

A lackey of the Ecclesiarchy… was that really how she felt about her time as a real Sororitas? She abandoned the question after a moment. It would gain her nothing.

A naked man with ragged, freshly cut slashes in his chest, blasphemous symbols and glyphs, staggered into her path, still clutching the bleeding knife, gabbling at her. She stopped, waiting for him to get out of her way, but he didn't, gibbering something about blessings.

The cultist reached out a hand towards her. Disgust flooded her system, and her chainsword was out and roaring, cutting the man down in a flash before she stopped to think. Blood sprayed out over the insurgents around her, and they cringed back. "Touch me and die," she snarled, revving the weapon to clean the worst of the gore off and make her point, before returning it to her hip and stalking onwards.

There was a commotion behind her, and her distaste intensified as she realised that they were mobbing the corpse, each trying to get a trophy of the man killed by the saint. _That's what Chaos does to you. Helga's right. Turning to that is a sign of weakness._

There was a sonorous pounding audible as she approached the junction, and she paused. They were in the middle of one of their damned rituals. Better to wait until it was done. Korgar would only drag her into it. Besides, the less she exposed herself to their beliefs, the saner she'd feel.

And she'd feel more able to look Morgana in the eye if she wasn't actually able to see what they were doing to make those prisoners scream.

Even as she tried to block it out, though, she knew it was still happening. More than ever, she resolved that this would not be the future. She would be rid of the Word Bearers, somehow.

_What am I doing? How did it come to this?_ _Lurking meekly in a tunnel, waiting for my commander to finish overseeing a ritual that turns my stomach to gods whose only desire is to consume the universe… how are they all so blind? How was _I_ so blind?_

There was an impulse, almost sickeningly powerful, to find a flamer and purge everything in her path. Not for the Emperor, not for humanity, not for the Ecclesiarchy… just because it was the right thing to do.

It was fought down. Not now. It would be suicide. And if the only thing left were herself and her Sisters… she couldn't start doing anything rash. Even if Korgar probably had those freaks so fired up that they'd let her do it, Korgar would kill her himself. Or sacrifice her.

The howling faded, and there was eerie silence. She gritted her teeth, then began moving again.

The junction-temple was absolutely packed. Insurgents had been spilling in from elsewhere for days now in dribs and drabs, and there had to be the best part of fifty thousand cultists. It made her skin crawl, as a rustling murmur spread out like wildfire, the mass suddenly turning its attention to her.

A path hurriedly formed before her, wild, fanatical eyes sneaking glances up at her as they prostrated themselves. She ignored it, moving fast towards the distant speck that was the altar, and the towering form of Korgar and his bodyguards.

She came to a dead halt as something caught her eye, though. Half a dozen women, well armed, and wearing stolen fragments of carapace armour. Carefully painted and sculpted to look to look like Sister battle-plate.

Her lip curled, fingers twitching, then she forced herself to walk onwards, only stopping as she finally stood before the Apostle. She avoided looking at the prisoners, or what was left of them. "Apostle," she said coldly.

"You are late, Saint," Korgar remarked, a thin smile playing over his twisted features. "You missed the sacrifice. The auguries clearly speak of our victory."

She growled. "Why are there crude copies of our armour on display?"

Korgar paused, then looked out over the stilled masses. "DAUGHTERS OF THE SAINT! COME FORTH!"

_Daughters of the Saint?_ Tzarine glared at him, wondering if it had been his idea. Slowly she turned, as twenty assorted women, all wearing mocked-up armour came to the front.

"Your mother demands explanation," the Apostle purred.

_Does this make them Corpse-granddaughters? I'll watch you die slowly for this, Word Bearer._ She waited, as the leader hesitantly looked up.

"We follow your example," she said in a guttural voice. "We aspire to you, Saint. We kill for you, in the name of the Dark Gods." She faltered in the face of frosty silence and midnight power armour.

"Show me your faces." Tzarine's hand flexed, morbid curiosity in her soul, wanting to know just how far this… this _blasphemy_ went. Bad enough that they copied the armour that meant so much to her, worse that the symbols of Chaos were daubed over it. And as the helmets were removed, revealing the carved and branded flesh…

_Impure!_ her instincts screamed. _Purge it!_

For the second time in her journey, the chainsword leapt to her hand, and described a glittering arc as it roared. There was a sense of inevitability as she watched the cultists close their eyes, waiting for the blade to end their lives, no struggle or resistance. Unless you counted the jarring as the screaming teeth chewed through carapacing and bone.

Pent-up fury unleashed, and when the red cleared from her vision, the 'Daughters of the Saint' were so much meat, blood coating her armour.

"Mock me and die. Touch me and die," she snarled.

Korgar inclined his head. "As you say, Saint," he murmured.

She took a few deep breaths, suddenly feeling calmer. It was a small strike for her own sanity and self-respect. Korgar waited for a moment, still smirking that little smirk, then gestured to follow him. She did so, relieved that there was no frantic scrabble for the corpses, as there had been with the man in the tunnels.

Korgar's chamber was rather more frugal than her own, with the only real decoration being a large table with a hololithic display embedded in the centre, and the various weapons and icons of Chaos. "Another excellent battle," Korgar said in satisfied tones as she sealed the door behind her.

"Another bloody one, you mean. Another few hundred dead on both sides, with no real gain."

"Tzarine, Tzarine! This is why I call you Corpse-daughter, because you still think like one! Blood is in itself an end." The Apostle made a gesture at the hololith as it activated. "We bleed them, and soon they begin running out of men. Then we make the strike to destroy them all."

"Now try the truth." Tzarine looked over the strategic layout, with its facts and figures of enemy deployments. "With no force in space, this is not a winnable battle. Eventually, they'll get reinforcements."

Korgar laughed. "Perhaps they will, perhaps they won't. But as I said… blood is an end in itself, when spilled in sufficient quantity. You saw that throng? They'll be going out in the next attack. This will be that final strike."

Tzarine blinked. "We've never committed like that before. The Imperium has enough ordnance to do tremendous damage. Not to mention they'd have time to assemble lance strikes from orbit. Even if the Imperial were wiped out, so would the insurgents."

"Precisely." Korgar waited.

The penny dropped. "You want them all to die." _And the only reason you would throw away your forces would be if you would claim a victory in return… that much death…_ "You want to summon daemons."

"My sorcerer will channel the death throes into the warp, and tear the veil asunder. The rip will be so large that the Imperium will be powerless to stop it in time."

"You know they'll conduct an Exterminatus if that happens," Tzarine said. "Even if the Inquisitor is dead, another might have arrived by now. Or the Black Templars might take it on themselves to burn the place, and I can't see the Imperial captains objecting."

"One final, magnificent sacrifice to Khorne. Glorious, is it not? That the Imperium will be so eager to do our will?"

"So how do you get out?" Tzarine folded her arms. "You're not the martyr type. Besides, you'll want to get the Gate off the planet."

"If they intend to conduct an Exterminatus with what they have, without specialised ordnance…" The hololith changed, to show a display of the planet, and a set of distinct points around it. "They'll have to take up these formations and proceed in a predictable pattern. That gives us time to evacuate."

"Your ship will need to be fast and tough. Picking up your Marines and my Sisters will take time." She ignored the frantic scream in her mind at the prospect of being forced to stay with the Word Bearers for longer.

Korgar smirked. "Soul Venom."

And as he explained, Tzarine suddenly saw how to escape the trap she'd created for herself.


	10. Chapter 8

The long chamber that served as their armoury was the only secure place the Sisters could all assemble. Tzarine looked down the ranks, looking in the waiting, curious eyes.

"Locked down, Sister," Morgana said. "No surveillance. We can speak freely."

Tzarine said nothing for a while, trying to work out what to say. "You didn't choose to be here," she said finally, slowly. "I chose for you. I don't think any of us is happy or proud of the things we've done. The Word Bearers took us in and protected us, but I feel unclean. I've worked out a way to get us away from them, to become our own people again. But it has risks. We may die, we may even die for nothing. And there is a price to be paid. I'm not going to force anyone to follow me, this time.

"Our dear Apostle has come up with a plan that will summon a daemonic army to ravage Senaav. Against those odds, we all know what will happen; Exterminatus. It'll take time for the orders to be exchanged, though. Korgar intends to use that time to load himself, his men and various important equipment onto the Thunderhawks he has hidden here. We'd be coming along, of course. He doesn't want to lose his newest toys.

"If we all agree, this is exactly what shall occur, with one minor alteration; Korgar and his Word Bearers will not leave this world alive. We shall take his cruiser for ourselves, and render ourselves free from anyone's control or authority."

"Take a Word Bearer cruiser?" said Ysabella dubiously. "You've seen what Korgar's turned the insurgents into. It'll be crewed by fanatics that will die before submitting to us."

Tzarine smirked. "Not exactly. A normal Strike Cruiser would be swarmed and at risk of being destroyed against this fleet, so they commandeered a pirate ship. There's a few Word Bearers on board to ensure the captain stays loyal, but I think he should be more accommodating to us."

"A pirate ship more capable of handling an Imperial blockade than a Strike Cruiser?" asked Helga. "What is this miracle ship?"

"The Slaughter-class cruiser _Soul Venom._"

Morgana breathed in sharply. "It has the original engine core?"

Tzarine nodded. Everyone else just looked blank.

"The Slaughter-class was designed using an experimental device called the Skartix Engine Coil," Morgana explained. "The Forge World that built it was bombed and the designs lost, so only a few were built. They're one of the fastest human warships ever built; all the firepower and defences of a cruiser, but she can keep pace with a frigate. There were even theories that she can outpace an Eldar ship if she overcharged her drives. No wonder Korgar wanted it."

"So there's a good ship waiting for us. You skipped the important bit," Ysabella remarked coolly. "Even with the casualties they suffered against the Templars, there's still thirty of us and about thirty of them. Not good odds. How are we meant to kill them?"

"We can take a few down, no problem," Helga mused. "Surprise will help. But she's right, Sister. Those aren't good odds. Like it or not, in a straight fight, they're stronger, tougher and faster than us."

Tzarine sighed. No avoiding it. "We turn the daemons against them."

"How?"

She fumbled around her neck, and drew out the necklace. The crimson gem somehow managed to shimmer obscenely in the light. "With this. I was… given it, inside the Gate."

Dead silence.

"I lied," she admitted, fighting tooth and nail to keep her voice steady. "When I went through the Gate, I was tested. Tested to breaking point. I held on, I refused to fall and worship the Ruinous Powers. But I'd seen what they could do. I couldn't just walk away. I fought until they gave me something. This… I have command of a daemon. A powerful one. She can turn the daemonic horde against the Word Bearers and wipe them out."

"All that railing against Chaos…" Helga growled. "All those warnings and threats and orders, and you'd ignored them yourself?"

"I said there was a price!" Tzarine snapped back. "I came to my senses. I wanted to use this, but I didn't. I refused, because it would spell doom for me and maybe you as well. But this is it. One deal, and we're free of the Word Bearers. We'll never have to play-act for Korgar again, never have to engage in pointless killing… we can finally free ourselves. Be ourselves, not what the Imperium or Chaos would try to mould us into."

Silence.

"We have three options. We can go with Korgar. Follow his plan. Accept our fate, and play his tune… and someday either lose our battles and fall to Chaos, or be killed when he loses patience. We can stay here and fight, alone, try to free ourselves and almost certainly die in the process. Or… we can make this one deal. Just one sacrifice. We're here because we refused to die at someone else's whim. I don't want to die. I don't want any of you to die."

"I for one don't want to die either," said Helga finally. "I'm nothing if not pragmatic. Daemonic allies are not what I'd choose, but maybe you're right. Maybe we need to make this one sacrifice. Assuming we can trust this daemon of yours."

Tzarine snorted. "Trust? A daemon? Don't be stupid. But there would be no purpose in making a grand show of declaring fealty, and then selling me out at the first opportunity. This would be it. One-off. No more deals, no more daemons, no more Chaos. Just us."

"Entirely free?" came a quiet voice.

Tzarine looked at Rhia, tense, waiting.

"I'm sick of this, Tzarine," Rhia continued, and Tzarine felt her stomach lurch as she saw the anger in her eyes. "I trusted you to lead us. You were always a good commander, but this has gone from bad to worse. We've been declared heretics, are pretending to _be_ heretics. We've killed men of the Imperium. And now you propose to work with the Great Enemy and watch a planet burn for the sake of getting out with our skins. I'll follow you through this, Tzarine, but then it ends. Then I want to be free of _you._"

Tzarine opened her mouth to reply, but Rhia was already storming out. None stopped her.

There was an awkward silence. Tzarine was painfully aware that there was neither condemnation nor support from her assembled troops.

It was Zekka that broke the silence. "We don't really have any choice, do we?" she said wryly. "We've been running from death since we landed on this death-trap of a planet. I don't see any other options that won't leave us as dead or slaves. I'm with you. I think we all are."

Tzarine nodded slowly.

"But when we're out of the immediate danger zone…" Zekka added, "We'll need to talk. All of us, to work out where we're going. Because you're right. You've been making all our decisions. Once that made sense, when we had a fixed goal, fixed orders… but we don't. We don't know where we're going, or why, or how."

Tzarine nodded again. "But until then…"

"Until then, you're in command. So. What are your orders, Sister?"

"Be ready for combat at any time. Nothing more yet, we don't want to alert them. I have the most work to do… dismissed."

The crowd of Sisters dispersed; save Helga, who continued looming. "What?" Tzarine said bluntly.

Helga waited until the last of the others had left. "You've got a wonderful attitude there, Sister," she remarked coolly. "Really makes me feel wanted and appreciated."

"Don't give me that. You've never wanted my friendship before, now you're taking the moral high ground? You're a psychopath, Helga. I'm a soldier. There's a difference."

"Less than you think. Do you want my input or not?"

Tzarine fought down her annoyance and nodded curtly.

"We need Golic."

"…you've got a terrible sense of humour," said Tzarine finally.

"I'm not joking. Golic's not one of them. We'll need him."

"Just because you've got a good rapport with another mindless killer…" Tzarine's eyes narrowed, though. There _was_ something off about Golic. There had been from the beginning. "I accept that he's no true Word Bearer. Why would he be willing to help us?"

"Oh, come on! Use your brains, Tzarine!" Helga snapped impatiently. "He's as godless as they come. Why would someone like that leave whatever outfit they'd been in and join up with a fanatic like Korgar? He wants something. Maybe we can help him get it."

"Maybe." Tzarine was unconvinced. "I'll think about it." It meant 'no', and Helga could see it, but the Seraphim evidently didn't feel like arguing. For a moment, Tzarine worried about that, then she cast the thought aside. She had other things to deal with.

Not least figuring out how to contact Llthaanhir.

The answer, she thought as she left, was once again a lie.

* * *

><p>"Go back through the Gate?" Korgar sounded dubious. "Why?"<p>

Tzarine took a breath, running over what she'd rehearsed. "Because it's time."

Korgar shook his head, baring his fangs slightly. "You rejected the Gods before, Corpse-daughter. They let you leave unharmed, so I concluded that they had a plan for you. You were not ready. I still believe you are not ready. Not in your soul, not in your heart, not in your mind."

"Maybe. But things change." Tzarine glanced towards the door of Korgar's chamber, towards the crossroads and the seething mass of cultists still out there. The mass of victims. "We're not going to be here much longer. Wherever we go will be undoubtedly less friendly and understanding than you have been."

The Apostle considered this. "The temple-world we are destined for is no place for the unbeliever, it is true. Very well. You have my permission to pass through the Gate. But I trust that this time, you will find some wisdom and enlightenment." He growled a few words in his own tongue, and then made a dismissive gesture. "The guards will allow you through. The attack will commence within the hour. Be swift."

* * *

><p>"Llthaanhir!"<p>

Tzarine shivered. She'd forgotten the curious, bone-gnawing cold of the immaterium, and there was more than a little anxiety in her heart. What if she'd been lied to? She'd barely escaped from the Azure Gate the first time. If the daemonette would not answer…

"And thus she returns," a voice purred from behind her.

Tzarine spun, adrenalin flooding her system, weapons in hand, before slowly forcing herself to relax. For a moment, she wondered how the daemon had snuck up on her in this endless plain… then she abandoned the question. This was the warp, trying to make sense of it would only lead to insanity. "So it seems," she replied tightly.

Llthaanhir smirked toothily, her daemonette-form moving as though in a slow dance that hypnotised the eye. "What do you wish of me, Battle Sister? For a time I thought you had reneged on our deal."

"There was no deal," Tzarine pointed out. "You swore obedience to me. I never offered anything in return."

"Perhaps." She began circling Tzarine. "What do you wish of me?"

"Do you know Korgar's plans? To sacrifice ten thousand souls and open a rift?"

"I do." She paused. "His sorcerer intimated the information to us."

"I want you to kill Korgar. And all of his men."

This brought the daemon up short for a moment, before she smiled a razor-edged smile. "An interesting opportunity. You wish us to eliminate your enemies… while leaving you untouched, no doubt."

"Can you do it?"

Llthaanhir stretched languidly, making Tzarine have to fight to keep her gaze on this soulless, black eyes. "Yes."

"I suppose… asking you to leave after that is too much."

Llthaanhir laughed. "Senaav will burn, Tzarine. Nothing can stop that now. The skeins of fate are too tightly woven. Even the Great Sorcerer would be hard-pressed to stop it now. All that remains is to see who will survive it. No. It is not within my power to hold back the hordes. Senaav _will_ die."

"Then nothing further is required. I have no further need of you." Tzarine turned back to the shimmering portal, relieved to find that it was still there.

"Tzarine," Llthaanhir murmured. "One thing yet remains. This will give me passage to the material realm. Do you wish for me to accompany you?"

Silence.

"While you bear the heart, I am your faithful slave. You will not always have the Gate. I could be by your side, offer my council and strength at any time."

Tzarine touched the portal, and vanished.

Llthaanhir faded. If Korgar were to die… his patrons would have to be… persuaded to look the other way…


	11. Chapter 9

"You're late," a voice grated.

Tzarine blinked hard, trying to clear the blurring in her eyes. Whoever and whatever had made the Gate had not made the journey a comfortable one. For humans, at any rate. Still, even with her clouded vision, it was hard to miss the looming figure of the Word Bearer before her.

"How long?" she asked, coughing as her lungs sucked in real air for a change. The Empyrean messed with time, she knew.

"Thirty four minutes," the Space Marine growled. "The assault is commencing. The Apostle awaits you. Be swift."

She nodded, and hurried from the artefact chamber. It had only felt like five minutes she had been speaking with Llthaanhir… now there was no time. She prayed that Morgana would have the Sisters organised, that everything would go to plan… so little time to prepare, so little time…

Then, as she clambered up the spiral stairway to the crossroads, she wondered who she was praying to. Not the Emperor. He'd never answered her before, why would he now that she had abandoned him? Not the Ruinous Powers, whose lying yet oh-so-tempting offers she had thrown aside. What else was there?

There was eerie silence, she realised. She had become used to the constant shuffling and hubbub of the mass of cultists and renegades that the Word Bearers had hidden here, and now they were… gone.

Gone to their deaths.

Tzarine stood still for a moment, looking over the mess and detritus of the horde, littering the floor of the cavern. Suddenly she felt profound remorse and pity. Since they had joined with Korgar, she had held a shield around herself, protecting herself and her Sisters from the filth of humanity. She'd killed more than a few that had stepped out of line, nearly two dozen just today. All that time, she'd felt nothing, focused on the war, and keeping her Sisters safe.

Now… ten thousand souls would be carelessly thrown away, to fuel the chain reaction that would destroy the world. Her soul ached at the thought. Rhia had been right, this whole deal was wrong. But it was not just the countless innocents who would die in the fires of Exterminatus that she pitied, it was the poor fools marching to their deaths for their beliefs.

All so pointless.

Then she shook off the sudden horror, and felt her mental armour settling into place again. This was necessary. This _had_ to be done. Maybe later, if… no, _when_ they were out of here, she could have a crisis.

Millions, maybe billions of people died every day across the galaxy. This world was doomed, and had been long before she'd thrown her lot in with Korgar.

For now, it was time. She patched into the vox. "Morgana. Status."

"I was getting worried," Morgana's voice crackled. "I moved us up to surface, with the Word Bearers."

Tzarine frowned. That didn't sound like a good idea. Getting stuck in the middle of a daemonic assault… "What about the portal?"

Morgana's voice had a forced cheerfulness to it. "That's what I said to Korgar. Turns out the rift isn't opening here. His psykers are going to channel the energy to another location, in the middle of a city about a hundred klicks away."

Tzarine's heart plunged. "So…"

"So we'll never have to look a daemon in the eye," Morgana said. "Isn't that lucky?"

Tzarine considered for a moment. Morgana was choosing her words carefully, just in case anyone was listening in. On that basis… there wasn't much she could say.

There wasn't much to say anyway. Her great plan to get them out… was for nothing.

Had that been Llthaanhir's little joke? Knowing she'd never have to proceed with that deal? Making her sell a little of her soul for nothing?

"Sister," came Helga's voice. "Did you get what you wanted?"

"Yes," Tzarine said shortly. "I'm on my way."

* * *

><p>Helga switched off her vox, and glanced around.<p>

Korgar's forces, those that weren't about to die horribly, were arrayed carefully in the city, hidden inside buildings and ready to move out. Partly it was a lie to encourage the hapless cultists, partly it was just readiness. Her little group of Seraphim were with her, lurking inside the bell tower of the cathedral. She quickly ran over the deployments in her head.

"We're about to do something dumb, aren't we?" asked Vulka, who was checking her pistols.

Helga grinned. "Tzarine tried to play their game and came up short. It's up to us to fix things."

"Shouldn't we –"

"No." The Seraphim Superior nodded out towards the distant plain, and the barely visible Imperial forces. "We're out of time, and Tzarine doesn't have the guts to raise the stakes. She hoped to twist their plans, now we're going to break them. It'll be dangerous, but she was right about one thing: living under Korgar for the rest of our lives does not appeal. You four have the easy job. Get the Sisters together and provide the wild card when the shooting starts."

Lissa looked doubtful. "We can't win a battle against the Word Bearers. They're probably expecting treachery, and it'd be hard even if we had the element of surprise."

Helga shook her head. "Timing. If we time this right… they'll be facing daemons as well, if my guess is correct. Wait for my signal."

Good thing she'd prepared for things to go wrong. She cycled her vox to a very specific frequency. "Karis. We're going to Plan B."

There was a pause, then the renegade Stormtrooper snorted. "How nice. I've always wanted to be killed by fanatical traitor Marines."

"You owe me," Helga growled. "Nobody else thought to warn you that this was a setup. How many did you pull out?"

"I've got a dozen of my best who are open to the idea that Chaos isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"And you're sure this will work?"

"As sure as I can be. I was just Gharr's lackey, I'm no expert on daemonic summoning."

"Just be ready." Helga closed the link, then glanced around. "If this works, the rift will open up right on top of us. Whatever comes out will not necessarily be friendly, I don't care what Tzarine says. Treat them as an enemy, just don't attract their attention."

"So where are you going?" Vulka asked.

"To go clean up this mess the only way I know how." Helga grinned, and sealed her helmet. "Making corpses."

* * *

><p>Morgana glanced up as Tzarine arrived. "You're just in time," she said morbidly.<p>

The building they had occupied had a fine view of the plain, while being just low enough to avoid being an easy artillery target. The living room had once been small, but shelling had battered it until the walls had fallen apart, opening it to what had once been a kitchen and two bedrooms, easily making room for Morgana's squad and Tzarine's bodyguards.

It was easy to see the swarms of people flooding out of the city towards the Imperial lines.

Tzarine crouched by the window, watching as the first few artillery shells began to fall. "Where are the others?"

"Ysabella's on the floor below. Helga took her unit back to the cathedral."

Tzarine grunted. And on the bottom floor was a unit of Word Bearers, neatly trapping them inside. She'd failed. Part of her wanted to just open fire, try to…

"Wait. The cathedral? Why?"

Morgana shrugged. "Who knows? Does it really matter? Korgar's taken away all our choices."

There was a thudding, and Tzarine drew her gaze away from the spectacle. One of Helga's Seraphim…

"Sisters," Vulka said. "Helga thought you might need help."

With a sudden certainty, Tzarine knew that she was, indeed, choiceless. And it was that damned Seraphim, not the Apostle that had removed her options. "Speak fast," she growled.

* * *

><p>"This is mad, Colonel!"<p>

Lieutenant-Colonel Korvian was tempted to agree as the Basilisks spoke again, another hundred of the renegades dying. Soon, the Russes would be joining the party, then the weapon emplacements… it was a killing zone.

He doubted the artillery crews were even aiming.

And that was the problem, he thought. It _was_ madness. No normal army would commit to an action like this. It was suicide, the casualties would be horrific.

But it wasn't a normal army.

With a scream of engines, Black Templar Land Speeders roared over the battlefield towards the massive horde, spitting heavy bolter fire. Leman Russ shells began landing, targeting the strangely small-looking enemy vehicles. The battle cannons tore the APCs apart, and even the heavier machines soon exploded spectacularly.

Korvian estimated that there were over a thousand dead already, and there had yet to be an Imperial casualty.

And with a grim certainty, he knew that they were going to lose.

"Keep firing!" he bellowed. "Don't stop until the barrels glow!"

* * *

><p>It passed through Helga's mind briefly that if she was wrong, she was about to die.<p>

Seraphim jump packs, like the bulkier versions used by Space Marines, are traditionally thought of in vertical terms; the rise up, and the plummet down for shock value. There was, however, another use for them.

Three Word Bearers were patrolling the street in front of her. Three on one, not good odds. If she could bring it down to two rapidly…

Adrenalin flooded her system, and she grinned. Then the jump pack triggered, and she barrelled into the left-most Marine at terrific velocity.

It was like running into a steel wall. Her shoulderpad groaned in protest, and red warning indicators flickered in her vision, but she barely noticed them, using the rebound to boost directly up. The Word Bearer staggered, almost falling to his knees from the impact, and as the other two turned to react, her inferno pistol maglocks reversed, sending the weapons flying into her hands. Two beams like concentrated stars blasted into the middle Marine, and he fell as they burned through his armour and vaporised his heart and turned his lungs to ash.

She landed neatly, a 'recharge' indicator flashing on her HUD. The jump pack needed to cool off after all that power spent, and now she was stuck with two Word Bearers.

The final Marine lowered his bolter at her. Time to see if she was dead right, or just dead.

"So, Golic," she said brightly. "Want to blow this joint? I need your help to screw over Korgar."

Golic considered, then shot the fallen Marine. The bolter round punched through his helmet, killing him instantly. "Been waiting _months_ to do that," he said casually. "Plan?"

"Nothing too taxing. Though I think you owe me the truth here. Why are you here?"

Golic thought for a moment. "I collect things. Korgar owns a lot."

"You've infiltrated this warband for months all for the sake of stealing some shiny things?" Helga laughed. "I'm sure nobody will object to you helping yourself when we're done. For now, we need to kill Korgar's sorcerer."

Golic looked at her dubiously. "Not asking much, are you?"

"Can't do it until the orbiting warships start blasting the plain, though. Psychic energies release, portal opens here, daemons start killing. Korgar dies, we steal his ship. Sound good?"

"Fun." He nodded seriously. "Time to get to work."


	12. Chapter 10

The squad of four Word Bearers watched as the pair approached, casually readying themselves. "What news?" the leader said. "Where are Farax and Berashn?"

Golic shrugged, remaining silent until they were only a few metres apart. "A far worse place." Then his bolter snapped up, sending a spray of point blank shots into the surprised Chaos Marines. Melta blasts tore into them as Helga joined him.

"_Now_ will you let me have your meltagun?" he added, looming over the corpses and scooping up a viciously spiked weapon, slinging his bolter over his shoulder. "Need to move fast. They got off a signal, we've lost the element of surprise."

She shrugged, reloading her pistols. "Just adds to the challenge, right? You know their deployments, where to?"

* * *

><p>"She's insane," Tzarine said, aghast. She'd expected Helga to be doing something dangerous, but… this was far, far worse. "She'll just get herself killed – and the rest of us soon after!"<p>

"She's the most capable fighter among us," Vulka said calmly. "If anyone can do it, she can."

Tzarine glowered at the Seraphim. She knew Helga, and she knew her limits. No way could she succeed... and merely by trying, she had put them all in mortal danger.

"_Who do you doubt?"_

Her gaze snapped around, then slowly lowered. Towards the heart-pendant, hidden beneath her armour.

"_The wayward girl? Your Sisters? Or yourself? Confess your sins... Corpse-daughter..."_

Tzarine's eyes shifted, looking out towards the pillars of smoke and fire on the battlefield. Her lip slowly curled. "Prepare for combat. Whatever happens today, make sure Korgar suffers dearly."

She could feel the mood around her change, the uncertainty slipping away, to be replaced by something familiar. Something that brought a hard smile to her lips as she sealed her helmet.

Righteous fury.

"Zekka?" she said as she drew her bolt pistol, checking the action on the weapon. "You told me you still believe in a god. Is he with you?"

The bulky Sister laughed harshly as her power axe crackled to life. "Oh yes. We're both ready to purge. Do you want his blessing, Sister?"

"I've gone off gods of late," Tzarine replied. "But we all need something to believe in." She grinned as she heard steady pounding of massive, armoured feet rising up the stairs. "Right now, I believe that we're going to send these mutated fuckers back to the hell they love to talk about."

* * *

><p>Korvian ducked as shrapnel and heat washed out towards his position, a rain of mud following soon after. The Black Templar pilot of the Land Speeder crawled from the wreck, seemingly still capable; his gunner was less fortunate.<p>

What the heretics lacked in artillery, they more than made up for in mid-range guns. Chimeras and non-standard vehicles sprayed autocannon and multilaser fire over the Imperial lines, and the casualties were mounting.

"Sergeant Vash reports that he's running low on ammo, the Basilisks will be dead in the water in under ten minutes!"

"Lieutenant Groshan's being flanked, he's pulling back –"

"– heavy casualties in B section –"

"– squad broken formation –"

He closed his eyes for a moment. "Enough!" he barked. "Get me orbital command, I want Admiral von Hakara! Now!"

His aide stared, then nodded to one of the comms officers. "Sir," he said quietly. "If we call in lance strikes, the collateral damage..."

"Better than losing everything." Korvian looked out at the onrushing horde again. "If we haven't already."

* * *

><p>"I gotta say, Golic..." Helga remarked as the massive bolter in her hands roared, spitting shells at the new squad opposing them. "Your guns stink."<p>

"Your opinion," the Chaos Marine replied, his newly acquired meltagun searing into the column and the Word Bearer hiding behind it. The warrior roared, and charged, chainsword revving.

Dispassionately, he dodged the wild swing, a heavy fist swinging and clubbing into the other Marine's side, making him stagger. The chainsword was reversed and made an upward slash towards Golic's helmet.

Instead of dodging, he simply caught it in a hand. The teeth screamed as they dug into the artificial fingers. Not letting go, Golic kicked his opponent hard, and used the opening to raise the meltagun, sending a blast through the Marine's skull. Only then did he release the sword, glancing at the mangled remnants. Only the thumb remained fully intact.

"You ok?" Helga barked, ducking out of cover to spit another spray of bolter rounds at the enemy, before dropping the stolen bolter in disgust.

"I have spares," Golic said nonchalantly, before snatching up a cluster of frag grenades from the fallen Word Bearer with his good hand, and hurling them. "Bad workmen always blame their tools," he added as he melted another Word Bearer trying to escape.

The rippling crash of explosions drowned out her reply, but he could tell it was not polite.

* * *

><p>Word Bearers are many things; tactically incapable is not one of them. The squad advancing up the stairs were all veterans of the Long War, who had seen the golden age of the Imperium before the Heresy. Although the vagaries of the Warp meant that they were only a few centuries old, rather than the ten millennia that would imply, they were all deadly soldiers. Bellowing prayers and invocations to the Dark Pantheon, blades out and bolters at the ready, their charge had broken every foe they had faced. Even Space Marines of the Emperor had faltered before such reckless violence and hate.<p>

It was said that you cannot truly defeat a Word Bearer, save by utterly destroying him and every follower he possesses. Until that point, they will never truly give up. Their belief in their cause is so total that they will die for it without hesitation.

The attack was swift and brutal. A cluster of disc-like frag grenades hurtled up the stairway, and exploded with a sound like thin screaming, the shrapnel covering the room. A split second later, the lead Marine charged out of the stairway, massive bolt pistol ready to unleash death.

A heavy, booted foot landed on the carefully laid krak grenade, and the implosion removed the everything below the torso and a decent chunk of the stairs. Despite the scale of the injury, the Word Bearer did not scream; his last breaths were spent still chanting.

A positive storm of bolter fire blasted down the stairway. Although the Godwyn De'az pattern weapons of the Sororitas were far smaller than the massive Astartes-issue weapons, each could still unleash death against even the Mk IV power armour of their enemies. Caught off-guard, the Word Bearers ducked for cover, bolts ricocheting off the ceramite. One with a stolen Mk VI helmet was a little slow, and a couple of shots punched through weak spots. The Marine fell, and a final bolter round through the neck ended him.

The firing ceased at a gesture from Tzarine, and she reloaded her bolt pistol. "Stalemate. We'll be just as vulnerable if we try to go down."

"We took out two of them," Morgana pointed out.

"They won't leave themselves open again." She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to predict their next move, and then snapped them open. "Oh _fuck_..."

* * *

><p>"Clumsy." Golic let the Word Bearer fall, a knife punched through his eye socket, and swiped a new clip for his bolter from the dead Marine.<p>

Helga snorted, biting her lip to hold back a pained hiss. "Looks worse than it is." Blood oozed steadily from the gash in her side where a chainsword had torn into the thick battle plate. "Not going to let it slow me down."

"Slow you down more, you mean?"

"Why are you so damned cheerful?" The Seraphim picked up a fallen bolt pistol, weighing it before holstering her inferno pistols, unwilling to expend any more precious ammunition.

"More fun than I have had in years." One sensed that behind the helmet grille, Golic was grinning.

Helga shook her head, and then looked at the next set of doors before them.

Her teeth were on edge, she realised. "They're in there."

Golic glanced at her, and nodded. "Ready?"

Before she could answer, the doors ground open of their own accord, and a voice boomed out. "Welcome, traitors. Come, meet your doom."

The central chamber of the grand cathedral was much as it had been on that fateful day. For a moment, the image of Tzarine gunning down the Imperial Guardsmen superimposed over the current reality, and Helga paused. She, and all her Sisters, had been sent down a dark path that day. Had it been worth it? Would it be worth it?

"Prima donna."

Golic's harsh voice broke her from daze, and she smirked. The present reasserted itself, and she cast her gaze over the scene with the eyes of a warrior, not of reminiscence. Half a dozen mortal acolytes, hooded and cloaked around another figure who crackled with the energies of the warp. Blocking the way were three massive figures; Korgar and his chosen lieutenants, each wielding two-handed power swords.

"I know not what you hope to accomplish here, but I know you will fail," the Apostle growled. "You have cost me much. Why? What would make you abandon the Dark Gods? You showed such promise, the both of you. I thought you to be a worthy addition to the band, Golic. Tell me why, help me understand, and I shall give you a swift death."

"I do not serve any gods," Golic shot back casually. "I serve a man in an iron husk. He would kill us both before I kneel alongside you."

"Such a fate would be kinder." The bulky Crozius Arcanum crackled to life, and the three Marines slowly advanced.

Helga slowly dropped the bolt pistol, and drew her inferno pistols again.

* * *

><p>The battlefield was turning into a charnel house. Korvian lowered his laspistol, the barrel and the skull of his crazed attacker both smoking gently.<p>

It was as he had known. The Imperial lines were being overrun. Even the Black Templars could not hold back the horde.

He scrambled over to the vox set, clawing it off the dead communications officer. "This is Lieutenant-Colonel Korvian. I need full lance strikes on this location. _Now._"

There was a pause, and he almost thought the set was broken. Then a voice replied. "Acknowledged, Colonel. Your sacrifice will be remembered."

Korvian closed his eyes, and tuned out the sounds of battle around him.

It was nearly over.

* * *

><p>Tzarine's intuition came too late.<p>

The building was not the most structurally stable, and the krak charges laid by the Word Bearers easily took out the supports. Chunks of floor fell, and then the entire structure slowly collapsed.

Tzarine fought for breath, clawing her way out of the rubble. The power armour had saved her from the worst of the damage, but she could see injuries flagging up on her squad monitor. Slowly she levered a large chunk of stone off her leg, and stood. The Word Bearers had seemingly evacuated, but they would be coming.

Her forces were disrupted, injured and unprepared. It would be a slaughter.

"Not again…" she whispered.

She pushed herself to her feet, felt around. Realised her weapons were gone. Lost in the rubble somewhere.

With an impact that splintered the broken stones, a towering Space Marine landed in front of her, jumping down from his vantage point. A bolter was half-raised, then sneeringly lowered. "You were always an insect. Not worth the ammunition. Submit, and I shall spare you."

Her eyes travelled up to the hideously scarred and mutilated face, uncovered by helmet. She was shaking, she realised.

How long had she felt this terror? How long had she buried it beneath duty and sheer stubbornness? How many nightmares had she blocked out of a moment just like this? To be before such a force of raw power and corruption, helpless?

She was the only one standing, she realised. The rest of her troops were buried, some struggling, some unconscious. She was alone.

The Word Bearer loomed over her, enjoying her fear. She had a sudden knowledge, a sudden certainty that he was about to kill her. Then he would kill every one of her Sisters. And there was nothing she could do.

Her helmet vox clicked quietly, and a voice just as quiet sounded. It was weak, pained, but it was unmistakeable.

"I believe in you."

Tzarine slowly looked up at him, and smiled, her fear gone. "Go to hell."


	13. Chapter 11

In physical terms, an Adepta Sororitas is an impressive individual, at the peak of human condition. But they are still just human. A fully fledged Astartes is not. Any Space Marine, whether Imperial or renegade, is a powerhouse of muscle and destruction the equal of ten men. Conventional wisdom would state that, unarmed and at close quarters, a Battle Sister would stand little chance against a Chaos Space Marine.

The Word Bearer knew this, and this was where conventional wisdom became inadequate. Power brings arrogance.

He staggered back in shock as Tzarine's armoured gauntlet rammed into his exposed jaw with all her strength behind it. He retaliated viciously, but her power armour absorbed the worst of the damage. Fuelled by rage, she leapt for him, scrambling up the inhuman behemoth's armour and headbutting him before he could counter. It felt like hitting a steel wall, but her helmet ensured that he got the worst of it.

Dazed but enraged, the Chaos Marine punched her in the chest once, twice, then grasped hold of her and bodily flung her away. She landed hard, and scrambled desperately to her feet, hurling a chunk of debris towards the charging Astartes. The stone shattered with little effect, and she screamed defiance.

There was the harsh thrum of a hellgun, and red light slashed across the Word Bearer's temple, doing little damage but blinding him with its intensity. Distracted and vulnerable, he shied away, and Tzarine pounced, her weight knocking him down. She dodged a blind swing, scooped the combat knife out of its sheath, and violently rammed the blade through his eye socket.

The Marine gave a pained cry, and she ripped the weapon out before hammering it in again, smashing it against his skull until it finally snapped, blood and brains and bone fragments coating her.

Slowly reality reasserted itself, and she realised that she was being watched. A dozen Chaos Marines and most of her Sisters were all staring, transfixed.

Then she lunged for cover, and the spell broke. Hails of bolter shells chased her, and she skidded painfully behind a solid chunk of what used to be the outer wall. She glanced over to see if anyone else was there, and saw a familiar face.

Morgana smiled silently, and handed over her chainsword and bolt pistol, apparently recovered from the debris while she was fighting the Chaos Marine. Tzarine tried to speak, and then just nodded as she reclaimed her weapons.

It was enough.

"Hello, Tzarine." The vox crackled, and the moment ended. "Figured I owed you for not killing me."

Tzarine snorted, amused, and leaned out of cover to snap off a few bolter rounds at the Word Bearers. Although injured, most of her Sisters were laying down suppressing fire, making the traitor Astartes keep to their own cover. Pride swelled in her heart as she replied, "Thanks, Karis. Wasn't expecting you."

"Helga filled me in," the ex-stormtrooper replied. There was a hint of accusation in her voice, but she apparently didn't feel like picking that bone right now. "My squad has the Astartes flanked, and these hellguns will make them keep their heads down."

A plasma round burned through the stone by Tzarine's head, and she flinched. "Good, but that doesn't help us much. We're in no shape to storm that position and take them out."

He thoughts were interrupted by a blinding flash on the horizon. Gunfire fell silent as both sides turned to watch as it faded, to be replaced by another, and then another. A moment later, the shrieking thunder of shipborne lance batteries igniting atmosphere reached them.

Tzarine felt something in the air that made her skin crawl, and she knew in her gut that the walls of reality were thinning.

"It's begun," Morgana said.

* * *

><p>The Word Bearer lieutenant was like a charging squiggoth. Helga knew without doubt that if that power sword connected, it would cut her in two and still have the force to smash into the stone floor below.<p>

Casually she advanced as the Word Bearer raised the massive weapon. At the last moment she dived aside, one melta shot taking out his leg at the hip. He fell with a roar of pain, sharply cut off as another shot punched through his mask, vaporising the head.

Golic was steadily retreating, beset by both remaining Chaos Marines, but Korgar paused and pulled away, reassessing the threat she posed. With a solid crunch of ceramite boots, he planted himself in her path. "You're a skilled fighter," he growled.

"I have my moments," Helga smirked, and in one motion pulled, armed and hurled her last grenade, a vehicle-busting krak.

There was a bright flash of light amidst the roar of the implosive weapon. As the dust cleared, Korgar laughed, untouched. "You'll have to do better than that, corpse-daughter."

Helga's jaw tightened as she saw the little emblem pinned to his armour. Although it was in the form of an eight-pointed star, she could clearly see the original design had been a cross. A stolen Rosarius. As long as the device continued working, the Dark Apostle would be nearly invulnerable.

She checked her pistols. One shot each, and she was out of reloads for the guns. That was the problem with them, she reflected. In any vehicle-busting weapon, the emphasis was on power over sustainability. With the Rosarius active, both shots would probably be useless.

Gritting her teeth, she holstered them. Korgar watched, amusement on his features. For some time, neither moved.

Then she snapped up the stolen bolt pistol and squeezed off a trio of shots as he charged, bellowed devotions to Khorne echoing around the cathedral. Twice the Rosarius glowed; the third bolt glanced off the ceramite harmlessly.

Then she was airborne, more shots chasing the Apostle as he slowed, several bolter shells of his own pursuing her. She cut the thrust, dropping sharply, and the bolts cratered the wall harmlessly.

Hurriedly she ducked among the pews as the Chaos Marine laid down a barrage of fire, chunks of metal and stone flying around her. She waited, saved from the worst of the assault by her makeshift cover, waiting for him to reload.

The pause came, and her wings blazed in a horizontal boost, legs kicking forwards. Korgar staggered back as the blow connected, and the Accursed Crozius lashed out reflexively. She twisted to try and dodge, but not enough. The energised weapon glanced her leg, and she bit back a cry as the disruptive field burned into the armour and muscle below. Although the actual damage was minimal, her whole leg went numb, and she landed awkwardly. Aware of the danger, she unloaded the bolt pistol at the Word Bearer. The Rosarius and thick power armour absorbed the shells with ease, but he still flinched back instinctively, buying her some time.

"Helga," her vox crackled.

Helga growled as scrambled to her feet, dropping the useless gun and seeking a new weapon. "Little busy, Tzarine."

"They've started the orbital strike. If you can do it… do it now."

Something in Tzarine's voice made Helga swallow the instinctive venom. That little, unspoken admission that Tzarine needed her, and believed that she could pull this off. She focused on the sorcerer behind Korgar, and smiled. "On it, Sister."

The Seraphim's jump pack flared, and she soared upwards and over the surprised Apostle. Her target did not seem to see her as she landed, turning her momentum into a charge.

Psychic energies filled the area around him; it was like being naked in a thunderstorm, and Helga gritted her teeth as she forced her way through the final few steps towards the sorcerer. His eyes snapped open as she got within reach, and terror filled them. Although a psyker of no small power and skill, channelling so much death and energy into forming the warp tear consumed all his strength. Unable to lift a finger to stop her, he screamed in her mind as she grasped his neck, and snapped it with a convulsive twist.

The shockwave threw her across the chamber, and she slammed painfully into one of the few surviving pews. Blue arcs of lightning exploded from the dead psyker, earthing into the solid stone of the cathedral. She tried to stand, and then a shadow obscured her view.

The Crozius swung. She dodged swiftly, but the crackling, spiked edges of the icon caught her helmet, ripping it away. Pain exploded as the energy field ran over her face, and blood streamed from her nose and mouth as the delicate blood vessels ruptured. Blinking to try and steady herself, she felt a steel grip wrap about her neck. Instinctively she made a grab for the hand, but Korgar ignored her, casting the power weapon aside and dragging her to her feet.

"What did you hope to achieve?" Korgar growled. "You have cost me much, corpse-daughter."

Grasping her neck in both hands now, he lifted her up like she was a toy. "You will beg for death before I am finished with you, and even death will not end your suffering. Your soul will be a plaything of the Dark Gods for all eternity. And you will experience all this with the knowledge that you have failed. The warp tear cannot be stopped. Daemons will overrun this world, and it will burn. Against Chaos there can be no victory!"

Helga resisted the urge to squirm, the pain of being suspended like that overwhelming, but she managed to grin.

The inferno pistol's blast began within the defence field of the Rosarius, and thus the energy field was powerless. The spear of deadly heat burned through both of Korgar's arms, and he gave a cry of shock as he staggered back, staring at the charred stumps. Helga landed on her feet, though her injured leg nearly buckled, and she slowly pried the severed hands off. They hit the floor with a loud clatter.

With a shriek, the warp rift opened.

The building reaction in the corpse of the psyker had reached critical, and he exploded in a shower of blood and gore. Sheets of lightning tore reality apart, and clawed hands reached through the cracks as they widened.

Korgar began to laugh as lithe, grey figures slipped out and into real space, the gateways fracturing and growing like cracks on glass. A sickly sweet smell that clouded the mind and made the head swim suffused the chamber. At the head of the group, a heavily built female figure with pale skin and long, coiled whips in her hands emerged, eyes roaming the chamber. "You lose, corpse-daughter," the Apostle growled. "Even if you kill me, you and all your Sisters are doomed. Witness the glory of Chaos!"

Helga watched the demons warily. She had one last shot. If Tzarine was wrong… if these daemons were hostile…

There was an explosion of violence and movement where a moment before, there had been stillness. The sorcerer's acolytes, who had not moved throughout, were torn apart in seconds by a pack of daemonettes. The female daemon smirked as she advanced on Helga and Korgar.

"Apostle," she said mockingly.

The Word Bearer champion forced himself to his feet, eyes narrowed. "What is the meaning of this?" he growled.

Llthaanhir reached out like lightning, and delicately ripped the Rosarius from the stunned Chaos Marine's chest. "The corpse-daughters send their regards."

Helga's smile was a mirror of the daemon's as she raised the inferno pistol. "Witness the glory of Chaos, _traitor._"

Korgar's head vanished in a blaze of killing light. Decapitated, the body crumpled to the ground, and Helga looked at the pale, daemonic figure. "You must be Tzarine's 'contact'."

"You may call me Llthaanhir," the other purred. "You're a skilled fighter. I was expecting to have to rescue the Sisters, but it seems that in your case at least, it won't be necessary."

"Getting crowded in here." Heavy footfalls announced the approach of Golic, the severed head of his opponent hanging from his belt. He'd clearly had a hard fight, battered and bleeding in places, but he still seemed cheerful.

Helga glanced at the spreading warp rift, and saw that it wouldn't be long before it outstripped the room and began to consume the building. Daemons were emerging rapidly now, ignoring the three in their single-minded objective of escaping the cathedral to kill and destroy elsewhere. Llthaanhir nodded. "Time is short. Korgar's Thunderhawks are nearby and loaded. My troops will soon clear out any remaining Word Bearers, then we must leave. It will not be long before the Imperials realise what has occurred and begin their exterminatus."

"_We_ leave?" Helga challenged.

Llthaanhir grinned toothily. "Didn't Tzarine tell you that I'm coming with you?"

* * *

><p>Senaav III was little more than a dot, but Tzarine could have sworn she could see the firestorm engulfing it.<p>

She felt tired, tired to her bones. A lot of people had died. Good, bad, innocent, corrupt, Imperial and renegade. A lot of it was her fault. Perhaps Korgar would have enacted this plan anyway, but she knew in her heart that it was thanks to her and her Sisters that the Apostle had corrupted so much of the Imperial Guard, thanks to her that this war had turned into a loss for the Imperium.

But they had made it. Done the impossible; beaten the Imperium and the forces of Chaos alike. They were free, free of any outside control or authority, free to choose their own paths. And considering what they had been through, it was a minor miracle that she had not lost any of her soldiers. None was without injury, some of them serious, but she had saved them all.

It was almost enough to make one believe the Emperor had been protecting them.

She snorted at that thought.

The trials were not over, of course. Korgar and Gharr were dead, but now she had other problems. Problems that were, in their own way, just as serious. In the corner of the Thunderhawk, the brooding form of Rhia sat, a painful reminder that not all had supported her decisions. Aloof and separate to one side, the imposing and unsettling shape of Llthaanhir lounged, her eyes locked onto Tzarine, and she was aware of the distrust and uncertainty among her Sisters about having the daemon among them. Still ahead of them was the challenge of winning the loyalty of the _Soul Venom_; for all her bravado, she had no idea if she could make the pirate cruiser obey her.

And then there was one of the most important questions of all to answer: what now? What life could her warband carve for itself?

The thoughts were chasing around her head as the sleek, angular form of their new home appeared through the windows. Lazily the three Thunderhawks looped around and towards the cruiser's small landing bay. As she stood, instinctively bracing herself for the upcoming confrontation and checking her weapons, a hand gently touched her arm.

She glanced at Morgana, and gave her a small, soft smile. They'd won. They were free, free to do as they chose. Maybe even free to feel.

The ramp lowered, and a ragtag group of crew and officers stared at her and her Sisters as they descended.

"Who the hell are you?" the apparent leader snapped. "Where's Korgar?"

Tzarine levelled the bolt pistol at him, and smirked. "I'm your new boss."


	14. Epilogue

_From the private notes of Inquisitor Gharr._

Senaav was hard, bloody and chaotic. The sheer number of variables made the outcome extremely difficult to predict or alter. A pleasant challenge, in other words.

Tzarine's progress has been impressive. While Korgar was not the brightest of individuals, he was no fool, and successfully blindsiding him with a daemonic pact demonstrates ruthlessness, cunning and drive. Of course, the involvement of Llthaanhir was not something he or I could have predicted. I'd almost thought her a myth; the situation there deserves careful scrutiny.

Likewise, Helga's successful alliance with the renegade mole Golic undoubtedly swung events in the Sisters' favour. Golic has now parted company with a sizeable haul of artefacts and weapons. No doubt Laris the Uncorrupted will be intrigued at his story; need to observe for any possible reactions. Of course, watching that dreadnaught weave his webs is always entertaining. Nevertheless, should he and Tzarine ever meet, I'm not sure that I'd care to predict the winner.

With the Senaav incident behind them, Korgar's warband annihilated and the _Soul Venom_ at her command, Tzarine's next question must be one of resupply. I'll have to track her movements carefully. Whether or not she will be willing to openly attack Imperial forces of her own accord will be her next big test of resolve.

My patrons are dubious as to why I have spent so much time on this project. To engineer a group of Sororitas to go renegade is no mean feat, and currently there is no guarantee of serious returns. I am confident, however, that Katarina Tzarine will eventually turn to Chaos as more than a distastefully used tool, and until that day, I shall continue to observe.

After all, we all need hobbies.


End file.
